ADDRESSES 
IN  AMERICA 

-  IQIQ  * 
JOHN  GALSWORTHY 


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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

VILLA    RUBEIN,  and  Other  Storic* 

THE    ISLAND    PHARISEES 

THE   MAN    OF    PROPERTY 

THE   COUNTRY    HOUSE 

FRATERNITY 

THE   PATRICIAN 

THE   DARK    FLOWER 

THE  FREELANDS 

BEYOND 

FIVE  TALES 

SAINT'S   PROGRESS 


A   COMMENTARY 

A    MOTLEY 

THE    INN    OF   TRANQUILLITY 

THE    LITTLE    MAN,    and  Other  Satire* 

A  SHEAF 

ANOTHER  SHEAF 

ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA:    1919 


plays:  first  series 

and  Separately 
THE    SILVER    BOX 
JOY 
STRIFE 

PLAYS:   SECOND    SERIES 

and  Separately 
THE    ELDEST   SON 
THE   LITTLE   DREAM 
JUSTICE 

plays:  third  series 

and  Separately 
THE   FUGITIVE 
THE    PIGEON 
THE  MOB 

A  BIT  O'  LOVE 


MOODS,    SONGS,    AND    DOGGEBEI.S 
MEMORIES.      Illustrated 


ADDRESSES    IN   AMERICA 

1919 


From  a  photograph,  copyright,  ii)K),  fry  Eugene  Hut,  h 


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ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

1919 


BY 

JOHN   GALSWORTHY 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1919 


Copyright,  1919,  bt 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


Published  August,  1919 


o- 


l  3   &U. 


CONTENTS 

FAOB 

I.    AT  THE  LOWELL  CENTENARY ....         1 
II.    AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 11 

III.  FROM  A  SPEECH  AT  THE  LOTUS  CLUB, 

NEW  YORK 45 

IV.  FROM   A  SPEECH  TO  THE  SOCIETY  OF 


ARTS  AND  SCIENCES,  NEW  YORK       .  51 

V.    ADDRESS  AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  .  54 

VI.    TO  THE   LEAGUE  OF   POLITICAL  EDU- 
CATION, NEW  YORK 67 

VH.    TALKING  AT  LARGE 73 


ADDRESSES    IN  AMERICA 
1919 


I 

AT  THE  LOWELL  CENTENARY 

WE  celebrate  to-night  the  memory  of  a 
great  man  of  Letters.  What  strikes  me 
most  about  that  glorious  group  of  New  England 
writers — Emerson  and  Longfellow,  Hawthorne, 
Whittier,  Thoreau,  Motley,  Holmes,  and  Lowell 
— is  a  certain  measure  and  magnanimity.  They 
were  rare  men  and  fine  writers,  of  a  temper 
simple  and  unafraid. 

I  confess  to  thinking  more  of  James  Russell 
Lowell  as  a  critic  and  master  of  prose  than  as 
a  poet.  His  single-hearted  enthusiasm  for 
Letters  had  a  glowing  quality  which  made  it  a 
guiding  star  for  the  frail  barque  of  culture. 
His  humour,  breadth  of  view,  sagacity,  and  the 
all-round  character  of  his  activities  has  hardly 
been  equalled  in  your  country.  Not  so  great 
a  thinker  or  poet  as  Emerson,  not  so  creative 
as  Hawthorne,  so  original  in  philosophy  and 
life  as  Thoreau,  so  racy  and  quaint  as  Holmes, 

1 


ADDRESSES   IN   AMERICA 

he  ran  the  gamut  of  those  qualities  as  none  of 
the  others  did;  and  as  critic  and  analyst  of 
literature  surpassed  them  all. 

But  I  cannot  hope  to  add  anything  of  value 
to  American  estimate  and  praise  of  Lowell — 
critic,  humorist,  poet,  editor,  reformer,  man  of 
Letters,  man  of  State  affairs.  I  may,  perhaps, 
be  permitted  however  to  remind  you  of  two 
sayings  of  his:  "I  am  never  lifted  up  to  any 
peak  of  vision — but  that  when  I  look  down  in 
hope  to  see  some  valley  of  the  Beautiful  Moun- 
tains I  behold  nothing  but  blackened  ruins, 
and  the  moans  of  the  down-trodden  the  world 
over.  .  .  .  Then  it  seems  as  if  my  heart  would 
break  in  pouring  out  one  glorious  song  that 
should  be  the  Gospel  of  Reform,  full  of  con- 
solation and  strength  to  the  oppressed — that 
way  my  madness  lies."  That  was  one  side  of 
the  youthful  Lowell,  the  generous  righter  of 
wrongs,  the  man.  And  this  other  saying:  "The 
English-speaking  nations  should  build  a  monu- 
ment to  the  misguided  enthusiasts  of  the  plains 
of  Shinar,  for  as  the  mixture  of  many  bloods 
seems  to  have  made  them  the  most  vigorous  of 
modern  races,  so  has  the  mingling  of  divers 

2 


AT  THE  LOWELL  CENTENARY 

speeches  given  them  a  language  which  is  per- 
haps the  noblest  vehicle  of  poetic  thought  that 
ever  existed."  That  was  the  other  side  of 
Lowell,  the  enthusiast  for  Letters;  and  that 
the  feeling  he  had  about  our  language. 

I  am  wondering,  indeed,  Mr.  President, 
what  those  men  who  in  the  fourteenth,  fifteenth, 
sixteenth  centuries  were  welding  the  English 
language  would  think  if  they  could  visit  this 
hall  to-night,  if  suddenly  we  saw  them  sitting 
here  among  us  in  their  monkish  dress,  their 
homespun,  or  their  bright  armour,  having  come 
from  a  greater  Land  even  than  America — the 
Land  of  the  Far  Shades.  What  expression 
should  we  see  on  the  dim  faces  of  them,  the 
while  they  took  in  the  marvellous  fact  that  the 
instrument  of  speech  they  forged  in  the  cot- 
tages, courts,  cloisters,  and  castles  of  their  little 
misty  island  had  become  the  living  speech  of 
half  the  world,  and  the  second  tongue  for  all 
the  nations  of  the  other  half !  For  even  so  it 
is  now — this  English  language,  which  they 
made,  and  Shakespeare  crowned,  which  you 
speak  and  we  speak,  and  men  speak  under  the 
Southern  Cross,  and  unto  the  Arctic  Seas ! 

3 


ADDRESSES   IN  AMERICA 

I  do  not  think  that  you  Americans  and  we 
English  are  any  longer  strikingly  alike  in  physi- 
cal type  or  general  characteristics,  no  more 
than  I  think  there  is  much  resemblance  be- 
tween yourselves  and  the  Australians.  Our 
link  is  now  but  community  of  language — and 
the  infinity  which  this  connotes. 

Perfected  language — and  ours  and  yours  had 
come  to  flower  before  white  men  began  to  seek 
these  shores — is  so  much  more  than  a  medium 
through  which  to  exchange  material  commodi- 
ties; it  is  cement  of  the  spirit,  mortar  linking 
the  bricks  of  our  thoughts  into  a  single  struc- 
ture of  ideals  and  laws,  painted  and  carved 
with  the  rarities  of  our  fancy,  the  manifold 
forms  of  Beauty  and  Truth.  We  who  speak 
American  and  you  who  speak  English  are  con- 
scious of  a  community  which  no  differences  can 
take  from  us.  Perhaps  the  very  greatest  re- 
sult of  the  grim  years  we  have  just  been  pass- 
ing through  is  the  promotion  of  our  common 
tongue  to  the  position  of  the  universal  language. 
The  importance  of  the  English-speaking  peo- 
ples is  now  such  that  the  educated  man  in  every 
country  will  perforce,  as  it  were,  acquire  a 

4 


AT  THE  LOWELL  CENTENARY 

knowledge  of  our  speech.  The  second-language 
problem,  in  my  judgment,  has  been  solved. 
Numbers,  and  geographical  and  political  acci- 
dent have  decided  a  question  which  I  think 
will  never  seriously  be  reopened,  unless  mad- 
ness descends  on  us  and  we  speakers  of  English 
fight  among  ourselves.  That  fate  I,  at  least, 
cannot  see  haunting  the  future. 

Lowell  says  in  one  of  his  earlier  writings: 
"We  are  the  furthest  from  wishing  to  see  what 
many  are  so  ardently  praying  for,  namely,  a 
National  Literature;  for  the  same  mighty  lyre 
of  the  human  heart  answers  the  touch  of  the 
master  in  all  ages  and  in  every  clime,  and  any 
literature  in  so  far  as  it  is  national  is  diseased 
in  so  much  as  it  appeals  to  some  climatic  pe- 
culiarity rather  than  to  universal  nature." 
That  is  very  true,  but  good  fortune  has  now 
made  of  our  English  speech  a  medium  of  inter- 
nationality. 

Henceforth  you  and  we  are  the  inhabitants 
and  guardians  of  a  great  Spirit-City,  to  which 
the  whole  world  will  make  pilgrimage.  They 
will  make  that  pilgrimage  primarily  because 
our  City  is  a  market-place.  It  will  be  for  us 
5 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

to  see  that  they  who  come  to  trade  remain  to 
worship.  What  is  it  we  seek  in  this  motley 
of  our  lives,  to  what  end  do  we  ply  the  multi- 
farious traffic  of  civilisation?  Is  it  that  we 
may  become  rich  and  satisfy  a  material  ca- 
price ever  growing  with  the  opportunity  of 
satisfaction?  Is  it  that  we  may,  of  set  and 
conscious  purpose,  always  be  getting  the  better 
of  one  another?  Is  it  even,  that  of  no  sort  of 
conscious  purpose  we  may  pound  the  roads  of 
life  at  top  speed,  and  blindly  use  up  our  little 
energies?  I  cannot  think  so.  Surely,  in  dim 
sort  we  are  trying  to  realise  human  happiness, 
trying  to  reach  a  far-off  goal  of  health  and 
kindliness  and  beauty;  trying  to  live  so  that 
those  qualities  which  make  us  human  beings — 
the  sense  of  proportion,  the  feeling  for  beauty, 
pity,  and  the  sense  of  humour — should  be  ever 
more  exalted  above  the  habits  and  passions 
that  we  share  with  the  tiger,  the  ostrich,  and 
the  ape. 

And  so  I  would  ask  what  will  become  of  all 
our  reconstruction  in  these  days  if  it  be  informed 
and  guided  solely  by  the  spirit  of  the  market- 
place ?    Do  Trade,  material  prosperity,  and  the 

6 


AT  THE  LOWELL  CENTENARY 

abundance  of  creature  comforts  guarantee  that 
we  advance  towards  our  real  goal?  Material 
comfort  in  abundance  is  no  bad  thing;  I  con- 
fess to  a  considerable  regard  for  it.  But  for 
true  progress  it  is  but  a  flighty  consort.  I  can 
well  see  the  wreckage  from  the  world-storm 
completely  cleared  away,  the  fields  of  life 
ploughed  and  manured,  and  yet  no  wheat 
grown  there  which  can  feed  the  spirit  of  man, 
and  help  its  stature. 

Lest  we  suffer  such  a  disillusion  as  that,  what 
powers  and  influence  can  we  exert?  There  is 
one  at  least:  The  proper  and  exalted  use  of 
this  great  and  splendid  instrument,  our  com- 
mon language.  In  a  sophisticated  world  speech 
is  action,  words  are  deeds;  we  cannot  watch 
our  winged  words  too  closely.  Let  us  at  least 
make  our  language  the  instrument  of  Truth; 
prune  it  of  lies  and  extravagance,  of  perversions 
and  all  the  calculated  battery  of  partizanship; 
train  ourselves  to  such  sobriety  of  speech,  and 
penmanship,  that  we  come  to  be  trusted  at 
home  and  abroad;  so  making  our  language  the 
medium  of  honesty  and  fair-play,  that  mean- 
ness, violence,  sentimentality,  and  self-seeking 

7 


ADDRESSES   IN   AMERICA 

become  strangers  in  our  Lands.  Great  and 
evil  is  the  power  of  the  lie,  of  the  violent  say- 
ing, and  the  calculated  appeal  to  base  or  danger- 
ous motive;  let  us,  then,  make  them  fugitives 
among  us,  outcast  from  our  speech ' 

I  have  often  thought  during  these  past  years 
what  an  ironical  eye  Providence  must  have 
been  turning  on  National  Propaganda — on  all 
the  disingenuous  breath  which  has  been  issued 
to  order,  and  all  those  miles  of  patriotic  writ- 
ings dutifully  produced  in  each  country,  to 
prove  to  other  countries  that  they  are  its  in- 
feriors !  A  very  little  wind  will  blow  those 
ephemeral  sheets  into  the  limbo  of  thin  air. 
Already  they  are  decomposing,  soon  they  will 
be  dust.  To  my  thinking  there  are  but  two 
forms  of  National  Propaganda,  two  sorts  of 
evidence  of  a  country's  worth,  which  defy  the 
cross-examination  of  Time :  The  first  and  most 
important  is  the  rectitude  and  magnanimity 
of  a  Country's  conduct;  its  determination  not 
to  take  advantage  of  the  weakness  of  other 
countries,  nor  to  tolerate  tyranny  within  its  own 
borders.  And  the  other  lasting  form  of  Propa- 
ganda is  the  work  of  the  thinker  and  the  artist, 

8 


AT  THE  LOWELL  CENTENARY 

of  men  whose  unbidden,  unfettered  hearts  are 
set  on  the  expression  of  Truth  and  Beauty  as 
best  they  can  perceive  them.  Such  Propa- 
ganda the  old  Greeks  left  behind  them,  to  the 
imperishable  glory  of  their  Land.  By  such 
Propaganda  Marcus  Aurelius,  Plutarch;  Dante, 
St.  Francis;  Cervantes,  Spinoza;  Montaigne, 
Racine;  Chaucer,  Shakespeare;  Goethe,  Kant; 
Turgenev,  Tolstoi;  Emerson,  Lowell — a  thou- 
sand and  one  more,  have  exalted  their  coun- 
tries in  the  sight  of  all,  and  advanced  the 
stature  of  mankind. 

You  may  have  noticed  in  life  that  when  we 
assure  others  of  our  virtue  and  the  extreme 
rectitude  of  our  conduct,  we  make  on  them 
but  a  sorry  impression.  If  on  the  other  hand 
we  chance  to  perform  some  just  act  or  kind- 
ness, of  which  they  hear,  or  to  produce  a  beau- 
tiful work  which  they  can  see,  we  become 
exalted  in  their  estimation  though  we  did  not 
seek  to  be.  And  so  it  is  with  Countries. 
They  may  proclaim  their  powers  from  the 
housetops — they  will  but  convince  the  wind; 
but  let  their  acts  be  just,  their  temper  humane, 
the  speech  and  writings  of  their  peoples  sober, 

9 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

the  work  of  their  thinkers  and  their  artists 
true  and  beautiful — and  those  Countries  shall 
be  sought  after  and  esteemed. 

We,  who  possess  in  common  the  English 
language — "best  result  of  the  confusion  of 
tongues"  Lowell  called  it — that  most  superb 
instrument  for  the  making  of  word-music,  for 
the  telling  of  the  truth,  and  the  expression  of 
the  imagination,  may  well  remember  this: 
That,  in  the  use  we  make  of  it,  in  the  breadth, 
justice,  and  humanity  of  our  thoughts,  the 
vigour,  restraint,  clarity,  and  beauty  of  the 
setting  we  give  to  them,  we  have  our  greatest 
chance  to  make  our  Countries  lovely  and  be- 
loved, to  further  the  happiness  of  mankind, 
and  to  keep  immortal  the  priceless  comrade- 
ship between  us. 


10 


II 

AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

ON  the  mutual  understanding  of  each  other 
by  Americans  and  Britons,  the  future 
happiness  of  nations  depends  more  than  on 
any  other  world  cause.  Ignorance  in  Central 
Europe  of  the  nature  of  American  and  English- 
man tipped  the  balance  in  favour  of  war;  and 
the  course  of  the  future  will  surely  be  improved 
by  right  comprehension  of  their  characters. 

Well,  I  know  something  at  least  of  the  Eng- 
lishman, who  represents  four-fifths  of  the  popu- 
lation of  the  British  Isles. 

And,  first,  there  exists  no  more  unconsciously 
deceptive  person  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  The 
Englishman  does  not  know  himself;  outside 
England  he  is  only  guessed  at. 

Racially  the  Englishman  is  so  complex  and 
so  old  a  blend  that  no  one  can  say  precisely 
what  he  is.  In  character  he  is  just  as  complex. 
Physically,  there  are  two  main  types;  one  in- 
clining to  length  of  limb,  bony  jaws,  and  nar- 
11 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

rowness  of  face  and  head  (you  will  nowhere  see 
such  long  and  narrow  heads  as  in  our  island); 
the  other  approximating  more  to  the  legendary- 
John  Bull.  The  first  type  is  gaining  on  the 
second.  There  is  little  or  no  difference  in  the 
main  mental  character  behind  these  two. 

In  attempting  to  understand  the  real  nature 
of  the  Englishman,  certain  salient  facts  must 
be  borne  in  mind. 

The  Sea.  To  be  surrounded  generation 
after  generation  by  the  sea  has  developed  in 
him  a  suppressed  idealism,  a  peculiar  imperme- 
ability, a  turn  for  adventure,  a  faculty  for 
wandering,  and  for  being  sufficient  unto  him- 
self in  far  and  awkward  surroundings. 

The  Climate.  Whoso  weathers  for  cen- 
turies a  climate  that,  though  healthy  and  never 
extreme,  is,  perhaps,  the  least  reliable  and  one 
of  the  wettest  in  the  world,  must  needs  grow 
in  himself  a  counterbalance  of  dry  philosophy, 
a  defiant  humour,  an  enforced  medium  tem- 
perature of  soul.  The  Englishman  is  no  more 
given  to  extremes  than  his  climate;  and  against 
its  damp  and  perpetual  changes  he  has  become 
coated  with  a  sort  of  protective  bluntness. 
12 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

The  Political  Age  op  His  Country.  This 
is  by  far  the  oldest  settled  Western  power 
politically  speaking.  For  850  years  England 
has  known  no  serious  military  incursion  from 
without;  for  nearly  200  years  she  has  known 
no  serious  political  turmoil  within.  This  is 
partly  the  outcome  of  her  isolation,  partly  the 
happy  accident  of  her  political  constitution, 
partly  the  result  of  the  Englishman's  habit  of 
looking  before  he  leaps,  which  comes,  no  doubt, 
from  the  climate  and  the  mixture  of  his  blood. 
This  political  stability  has  been  a  tremendous 
factor  in  the  formation  of  English  character, 
has  given  the  Englishman  of  all  ranks  a  cer- 
tain deep,  quiet  sense  of  form  and  order,  an 
ingrained  culture  which  makes  no  show,  being 
in  the  bones  of  the  man  as  it  were. 

The  Great  Preponderance  for  Several 
Generations  of  Town  Over  Country  Life. 
Taken  in  conjunction  with  generations  of  politi- 
cal stability,  this  is  the  main  cause  of  a  growing, 
inarticulate  humaneness,  of  which  however  the 
Englishman  appears  to  be  rather  ashamed. 

The  other  chief  factors  have  been: 

The  English  Public  Scbiools. 
13 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

The  Essential  Democracy  of  the  GOV- 
ERNMENT. 

The  Freedom  of  Speech  and  the  Press 
(at  present  rather  under  a  cloud). 

The  Old-Time  Freedom  from  Compulsory 
Military  Service. 

All  these,  the  outcome  of  the  quiet  and  stable 
home  life  of  an  island  people,  have  helped  to 
make  the  Englishman  a  deceptive  personality 
to  the  outside  eye.  He  has  for  centuries  been 
licensed  to  grumble.  There  is  no  such  con- 
firmed grumbler — until  he  really  has  something 
to  grumble  at;  and  then,  no  one  perhaps  who 
grumbles  less.  An  English  soldier  was  sitting 
in  a  trench,  in  the  act  of  lighting  his  pipe^  when 
a  shell  burst  close  by,  and  lifted  him  bodily 
some  yards  away.  He  picked  himself  up, 
bruised  and  shaken,  and  went  on  lighting  his 
pipe,  with  the  words:  "These  French  matches 
aren't  'alf  rotten." 

Confirmed  carper  though  the  Englishman 
is  at  the  condition  of  his  country,  no  one  per- 
haps is  so  profoundly  convinced  that  it  is  the 
best  in  the  world.  A  stranger  might  well 
think  from  his  utterances  that  he  was  spoiled 

14 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

by  the  freedom  of  his  life,  unprepared  to  sacri- 
fice anything  for  a  land  in  such  a  condition. 
If  that  country  be  threatened,  and  with  it  his 
liberty,  you  find  that  his  grumbles  have  meant 
less  than  nothing.  You  find,  too,  that  behind 
the  apparent  slackness  of  every  arrangement 
and  every  individual,  are  powers  of  adaptability 
to  facts,  elasticity,  practical  genius,  a  spirit  of 
competition  amounting  almost  to  disease,  and 
great  determination.  Before  this  war  began, 
it  was  the  fashion  among  a  number  of  English 
to  lament  the  decadence  of  their  race.  Such 
lamentations,  which  plentifully  deceived  the 
outside  ear,  were  just  English  grumbles.  All 
this  democratic  grumbling,  and  habit  of  "  going 
as  you  please,"  serve  a  deep  purpose.  Autoc- 
racy, censorship,  compulsion  destroy  the  salt 
in  a  nation's  blood,  and  elasticity  in  its  fibre; 
they  cut  at  the  very  mainsprings  of  a  nation's 
vitality.  Only  if  reasonably  free  from  control 
can  a  man  really  arrive  at  what  is  or  is  not 
national  necessity  and  truly  identify  himself 
with  a  national  ideal,  by  simple  conviction 
from  within. 
Two  words  of  caution  to  strangers  trying  to 
15 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

form  an  estimate  of  the  Englishman :  He  must 
not  be  judged  from  his  Press,  which,  manned 
(with  certain  exceptions)  by  those  who  are  not 
typically  English,  is  too  hectic  to  illustrate  the 
true  English  spirit;  nor  can  he  be  judged  en- 
tirely from  his  literature.  The  Englishman  is 
essentially  inexpressive,  unexpressed;  and  his 
literary  men  have  been  for  the  most  part  sports 
— Nature's  attempt  to  redress  the  balance. 
Further,  he  must  not  be  judged  by  the  evi- 
dence of  his  wealth.  England  may  be  the 
richest  country  in  the  world  in  proportion  to 
its  population,  but  not  ten  per  cent  of  that 
population  have  any  wealth  to  speak  of,  cer- 
tainly not  enough  to  have  affected  their  hardi- 
hood; and,  with  few  exceptions,  those  who  have 
enough  wealth  are  brought  up  to  worship 
hardihood. 

I  have  never  held  a  whole-hearted  brief  for 
the  British  character.  There  is  a  lot  of  good 
in  it,  but  much  which  is  repellent.  It  has  a 
kind  of  deliberate  unattractiveness,  setting  out 
on  its  journey  with  the  words:  "Take  me  or 
leave  me."  One  may  respect  a  person  of  this 
sort,  but  it's  difficult  either  to  know  or  to  like 

16 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

him.  An  American  officer  said  recently  to  a 
British  Staff  Officer  in  a  friendly  voice:  "So 
we're  going  to  clean  up  Brother  Boche  to- 
gether!" and  the  British  Staff  Officer  replied: 
"Really!"  No  wonder  Americans  sometimes 
say:  "I've  got  no  use  for  those  fellows !" 

The  world  is  consecrate  to  strangeness  and 
discovery,  and  the  attitude  of  mind  concreted 
in  that:  "Really !"  seems  unforgivable  till  one 
remembers  that  it  is  manner  rather  than  matter 
which  divides  the  hearts  of  American  and 
Briton. 

In  your  huge,  still  half-developed  country, 
where  every  kind  of  national  type  and  habit 
comes  to  run  a  new  thread  into  the  rich  tapestry 
of  American  life  and  thought,  people  must  find 
it  almost  impossible  to  conceive  the  life  of  a 
little  old  island  where  traditions  persist  gen- 
eration after  generation  without  anything  to 
break  them  up;  where  blood  remains  undoc- 
tored  by  new  strains;  demeanour  becomes 
crystallised  for  lack  of  contrasts;  and  manner 
gets  set  like  a  plaster  mask.  Nevertheless  the 
English  maimer  of  to-day,  of  what  are  called 
the  classes,  is  the  growth  of  only  a  century  or 

17 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

so.  There  was  probably  nothing  at  all  like  it 
in  the  days  of  Elizabeth  or  even  of  Charles  II. 
The  English  manner  was  still  racy  not  to  say 
rude  when  the  inhabitants  of  Virginia,  as  we 
are  told,  sent  over  to  ask  that  there  might  be 
despatched  to  them  some  hierarchical  assist- 
ance for  the  good  of  their  souls,  and  were  an- 
swered: "D n  your  souls,  grow  tobacco!" 

The  English  manner  of  to-day  could  not  even 
have  come  into  its  own  when  that  epitaph  of  a 
Lady,  quoted  somewhere  by  Gilbert  Murray, 
was  written:  "Bland,  passionate,  and  deeply 
religious,  she  was  second  cousin  to  the  Earl  of 
Leitrim;  of  such  are  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 
About  that  gravestone  motto  you  will  admit 
there  was  a  certain  lack  of  self-consciousness; 
that  element  which  is  now  the  foremost  char- 
acteristic of  the  English  manner. 

But  this  English  self-consciousness  is  no 
mere  fluffy  gaucherie;  it  is  our  special  form  of 
what  Germans  would  call  "Kultur."  Behind 
every  manifestation  of  thought  or  emotion, 
the  Briton  retains  control  of  self,  and  is  think- 
ing :  "  That's  all  I'll  let  myself  feel ;  at  all  events 
all  I'll  let  myself  show."    This  stoicism  is  good 

18 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON' 

V 

in  its  refusal  to  be  foundered;  bad  in  that  it 
fosters  a  narrow  outlook;  starves  emotion, 
spontaneity,  and  frank  sympathy;  destroys 
grace  and  what  one  may  describe  roughly  as 
the  lovable  side  of  personality.  The  English 
hardly  ever  say  just  what  comes  into  their 
heads.  What  we  call  "good  form,"  the  un- 
written law  which  governs  certain  classes  of  the 
Briton,  savours  of  the  dull  and  glacial;  but 
there  lurks  within  it  a  core  of  virtue.  It  has 
grown  up  like  callous  shell  round  two  fine 
ideals — suppression  of  the  ego  lest  it  trample 
on  the  corns  of  other  people;  and  exaltation  of 
the  maxim:  'Deeds  before  words.'  Good 
form,  like  any  other  religion,  starts  well  with 
some  ethical  truth,  but  in  due  time  gets  com- 
monised,  twisted,  and  petrified  till  at  last  we 
can  hardly  trace  its  origin,  and  watch  with 
surprise  its  denial  and  contradiction  of  the 
root  idea. 

Without  doubt,  before  the  war,  good  form 
had  become  a  kind  of  disease  in  England.  A 
French  friend  told  me  how  he  witnessed  in  a 
Swiss  Hotel  the  meeting  between  an  English- 
woman and  her  son,  whom  she  had  not  seen 

19 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

for  two  years;  she  was  greatly  affected — by  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  brought  a  dinner-jacket. 
The  best  manners  are  no  "manners,"  or  at  all 
events  no  mannerisms;  but  many  Britons  who 
have  even  attained  to  this  perfect  purity  are 
yet  not  free  from  the  paralytic  effects  of  "good 
form";  are  still  self-conscious  in  the  depths  of 
their  souls,  and  never  do  or  say  a  thing  without 
trying  not  to  show  how  much  they  are  feeling. 
All  this  guarantees  perhaps  a  certain  decency 
in  life;  but  in  intimate  intercourse  with  peo- 
ple of  other  nations  who  have  not  this  par- 
ticular cult  of  suppression,  we  English  disap- 
point, and  jar,  and  often  irritate.  Nations 
have  their  differing  forms  of  snobbery.  At  one 
time,  if  we  are  to  believe  Thackeray,  the  Eng- 
lish all  wanted  to  be  second  cousins  to  the 
Earl  of  Leitrim,  like  that  lady  bland  and 
passionate.  Now-a-days  it  is  not  so  simple. 
The  Earl  of  Leitrim  has  become  etherialised. 
We  no  longer  care  how  a  fellow  is  born,  so  long 
as  he  behaves  as  the  Earl  of  Leitrim  would 
have;  never  makes  himself  conspicuous  or 
ridiculous,  never  shows  too  much  what  he's 
really  feeling,  never  talks  of  what  he's  going 

20 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

to  do,  and  always  "plays  the  game."  The  cult 
is  centred  in  our  Public  Schools  and  Univer- 
sities. 

At  a  very  typical  and  honoured  old  Public 
School,  he  to  whom  you  are  listening  passed 
on  the  whole  a  happy  time;  but  what  an  odd 
life  educationally  speaking !  We  lived  rather 
like  young  Spartans;  and  were  not  encouraged 
to  think,  imagine,  or  see  anything  we  learned, 
in  relation  to  life  at  large.  It's  very  difficult 
to  teach  boys,  because  their  chief  object  is  not 
to  be  taught  anything;  but  I  should  say  we 
were  crammed,  not  taught.  Living  as  we  did 
the  herd-life  of  boys  with  little  or  no  intrusion 
from  our  elders,  and  they  men  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  same  way  as  ourselves,  we 
were  debarred  from  any  real  interest  in  philoso- 
phy, history,  art,  literature,  and  music,  or  any 
advancing  notions  in  social  life  or  politics.  We 
were  reactionaries  almost  to  a  boy.  I  remem- 
ber one  summer  term  Gladstone  came  down  to 
speak  to  us,  and  we  repaired  to  the  Speech 
Room  with  white  collars  and  dark  hearts,  mut- 
tering what  we  would  do  to  that  Grand  Old 
Man  if  we  could  have  our  way.  But,  after  all, 
21 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

he  contrived  to  charm  us.  Boys  are  not  diffi- 
cult to  charm.  In  that  queer  life  we  had  all 
sorts  of  unwritten  rules  of  suppression.  You 
must  turn  up  your  trousers;  must  not  go  out 
with  your  umbrella  rolled.  Your  hat  must  be 
worn  tilted  forward;  you  must  not  walk  more 
than  two  abreast  till  you  reached  a  certain 
form;  nor  be  enthusiastic  about  anything,  ex- 
cept such  a  supreme  matter  as  a  drive  over 
the  pavilion  at  cricket,  or  a  run  the  whole 
length  of  the  ground  at  football.  You  must 
not  talk  about  yourself  or  your  home  people; 
and  for  any  punishment  you  must  assume  com- 
plete indifference. 

I  dwell  on  these  trivialities,  because  every 
year  thousands  of  British  boys  enter  these 
mills  which  grind  exceeding  small;  and  be- 
cause these  boys  constitute  in  after  life  the 
great  majority  of  the  official,  military,  academic, 
professional,  and  a  considerable  proportion  of 
the  business  classes  of  Great  Britain.  They 
become  the  Englishmen  who  say:  " Really !" 
and  they  are  for  the  most  part  the  Englishmen 
who  travel  and  reach  America.  The  great 
defence  I  have  always  heard  put  up  for  our 

22 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

Public  Schools  is  that  they  form  character. 
As  oatmeal  is  supposed  to  form  bone  in  the 
bodies  of  Scotsmen,  so  our  Public  Schools  are 
supposed  to  form  good  sound  moral  fibre  in 
British  boys.  And  there  is  much  in  this  plea. 
The  life  does  make  boys  enduring,  self-reliant, 
good-tempered,  and  honourable,  but  it  most 
carefully  endeavours  to  destroy  all  original  sin 
of  individuality,  spontaneity,  and  engaging 
freakishness.  It  implants,  moreover,  in  the 
great  majority  of  those  who  have  lived  it  the 
mental  attitude  of  that  swell,  who  when  asked 
where  he  went  for  his  hats,  replied:  "Blank's; 
is  there  another  fellow's?" 

To  know  all  is  to  excuse  all — to  know  all 
about  the  bringing-up  of  English  Public  School 
boys  makes  one  excuse  much.  The  atmos- 
phere and  tradition  of  those  places  is  extraor- 
dinarily strong,  and  persists  through  all  modern 
changes.  Thirty-eight  years  have  gone  since  I 
was  a  new  boy,  but  cross-examining  a  young 
nephew  who  left  not  long  ago,  I  found  almost 
precisely  the  same  features  and  conditions. 
The  War,  which  has  changed  so  much  of  our 
social  life,  will  have  some,  but  no  very  great, 
23 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

effect  on  this  particular  institution.  The  boys 
still  go  there  from  the  same  kind  of  homes  and 
preparatory  schools  and  come  under  the  same 
kind  of  masters.  And  the  traditional  unemo- 
tionalism,  the  cult  of  a  dry  and  narrow  stoicism, 
is  rather  fortified  than  diminished  by  the  times 
we  live  in. 

Our  Universities  on,  the  other  hand,  have 
lately  been  but  the  ghosts  of  their  old  selves. 
At  my  old  College  in  Oxford  last  year  they  had 
only  two  English  students.  In  the  Chapel 
under  the  Joshua  Reynolds  window,  through 
which  the  sun  was  shining,  hung  a  long  "roll 
of  honour,"  a  hundred  names  and  more.  In 
the  College  garden  an  open-air  hospital  was 
ranged  under  the  old  City  wall,  where  we  used 
to  climb  and  go  wandering  in  the  early  summer 
mornings  after  some  all-night  spree.  Down 
on  the  river  the  empty  College  barges  lay 
stripped  and  stark.  From  the  top  of  one  of 
them  an  aged  custodian  broke  into  words: 
"Ah!  Oxford'll  never  be  the  same  again  in 
my  time.  Why,  who's  to  teach  'em  rowin'? 
When  we  do  get  undergrads  again,  who's  to 
teach   'em?    All   the   old   ones  gone,   killed, 

24 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

wounded  and  that.  No!  Rowin'll  never  be 
the  same  again — not  in  my  time."  That  was 
the  tragedy  of  the  War  for  him.  Our  Univer- 
sities will  recover  faster  than  he  thinks,  and 
resume  the  care  of  our  particular  'Kultur/  and 
cap  the  products  of  our  public  schools  with  the 
Oxford  accent  and  the  Oxford  manner. 

An  acute  critic  tells  me  that  Americans  hear- 
ing such  deprecatory  words  as  these  from  an 
Englishman  about  his  country's  institutions 
would  say  that  this  is  precisely  an  instance  of 
what  an  American  means  by  the  Oxford  manner. 
Americans  whose  attitude  towards  their  own 
country  seems  to  be  that  of  a  lover  to  his  lady 
or  a  child  to  its  mother,  cannot — he  says — 
understand  how  Englishmen  can  be  critical  of 
their  own  country,  and  yet  love  her.  Well, 
the  Englishman's  attitude  to  his  country  is 
that  of  a  man  to  himself;  and  the  way  he  runs 
her  down  is  rather  a  part  of  that  special  Eng- 
lish bone-deep  self-consciousness  of  which  I 
have  been  speaking.  Englishmen  (the  speaker 
amongst  them)  love  their  Country  as  much  as 
the  French  love  France,  and  the  Americans 
America;  but  she  is  so  much  a  part  of  us  that 
25 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

to  speak  well  of  her  is  like  speaking  well  of 
ourselves,  which  we  have  been  brought  up  to 
regard  as  impossible.  When  Americans  hear 
Englishmen  speaking  critically  of  their  own 
country  I  think  they  should  note  it  for  a  sign 
of  complete  identification  with  their  country 
rather  than  of  detachment  from  it.  But  to 
return  to  English  Universities:  They  have,  on 
the  whole,  a  broadening  influence  on  the  ma- 
terial which  comes  to  them  so  set  and  narrow. 
They  do  a  little  to  discover  for  their  children 
that  there  are  many  points  of  view,  and  much 
which  needs  an  open  mind  in  this  world.  They 
have  not  precisely  a  democratic  influence,  but 
taken  by  themselves  they  would  not  be  inimical 
to  democracy.  And  when  the  War  is  over  they 
will  surely  be  still  broader  in  philosophy  and 
teaching.  Heaven  forefend  that  we  should  see 
vanish  all  that  is  old,  all  that  has  as  it  were  the 
virginia-creeper,  the  wistaria  bloom  of  age 
upon  it;  there  is  a  beauty  in  age  and  a  health 
in  tradition,  ill  dispensed  with.  But  what  is 
hateful  in  age  is  its  lack  of  understanding  and 
of  sympathy;  in  a  word — its  intolerance.  Let 
us  hope  this  wind  of  change  may  sweep  out  and 

26 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

sweeten  the  old  places  of  my  country,  sweep 
away  the  cobwebs  and  the  dust,  our  narrow 
ways  of  thought,  our  mannikinisms.  But  those 
who  hate  intolerance  dare  not  be  intolerant 
with  the  foibles  of  age;  they  should  rather  see 
them  as  comic,  and  gently  laugh  them  out. 

The  educated  Briton  may  be  self-sufficient, 
but  he  has  grit;  and  at  bottom  grit  is,  I  fancy, 
what  Americans  at  any  rate  appreciate  more 
than  anything.  If  the  motto  of  my  old  Oxford 
College:  "Manners  makyth  man,"  were  true, 
I  should  often  be  sorry  for  the  Briton.  But 
his  manners  don't  make  him,  they  mar  him. 
His  goods  are  all  absent  from  the  shop  window; 
he  is  not  a  man  of  the  world  in  the  wider  mean- 
ing of  that  expression.  And  there  is,  of  course, 
a  particularly  noxious  type  of  travelling  Briton, 
who  does  his  best,  unconsciously,  to  take  the 
bloom  off  his  country  wherever  he  goes.  Sel- 
fish, coarse-fibred,  loud-voiced — the  sort  which 
thanks  God  he  is  a  Briton — I  suppose  because 
nobody  else  will  do  it  for  him ! 

We  live  in  times  when  patriotism  is  exalted 
above  all  other  virtues,  because  there  have 
happened  to  lie  before  the  patriotic  tremendous 

27 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

chances  for  the  display  of  courage  and  self- 
sacrifice.  Patriotism  ever  has  that  advantage 
as  the  world  is  now  constituted;  but  patri- 
otism and  provincialism  of  course  are  pretty- 
close  relations,  and  they  who  can  only  see 
beauty  in  the  plumage  of  their  own  kind,  who 
prefer  the  bad  points  of  their  countrymen  to 
the  good  points  of  foreigners,  merely  write 
themselves  down  blind  of  an  eye,  and  pan- 
derers  to  herd  feeling.  America  is  advantaged 
in  this  matter.  She  lives  so  far  away  from 
other  nations  that  she  might  well  be  excused 
for  thinking  herself  the  only  country  in  the 
world;  but  in  the  many  strains  of  blood  which 
go  to  make  up  America,  there  is  as  yet  a  natural 
corrective  to  the  narrower  kind  of  patriotism. 
America  has  vast  spaces  and  many  varieties 
of  type  and  climate,  and  life  to  her  is  still  a 
great  adventure. 

I  pretend  to  no  proper  knowledge  of  the 
American  people.  It  takes  more  than  two 
visits  of  two  months  each  to  know  the  Ameri- 
can people;  there  is  just  one  thing,  however,  I 
can  tell  you:  You  seem  easy,  but  are  difficult 
to  know.  Americans  have  their  own  form  of 
28 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

self-absorption;  but  they  appear  to  be  free  as 
yet  from  the  special  competitive  self-centre- 
ment  which  has  been  forced  on  Britons  through 
long  centuries  by  countless  continental  rival- 
ries and  wars.  Insularity  was  driven  into  the 
very  bones  of  our  people  by  the  generation- 
long  wars  of  Napoleon.  A  Frenchman,  Andre* 
Chevrillon,  whose  book:  "England  and  the 
War"  I  commend  to  anyone  who  wishes  to 
understand  British  peculiarities,  justly,  subtly 
studied  by  a  Frenchman,  used  these  words  in 
a  recent  letter  to  me:  "You  English  are  so 
strange  to  us  French;  you  are  so  utterly  differ- 
ent from  any  other  people  in  the  world."  It  is 
true;  we  are  a  lonely  race.  Deep  in  our  hearts, 
I  think,  we  feel  that  only  the  American  people 
could  ever  really  understand  us.  And  being 
extraordinarily  self-conscious,  perverse,  and 
proud,  we  do  our  best  to  hide  from  Americans 
that  we  have  any  such  feeling.  It  would  dis- 
tress the  average  Briton  to  confess  that  he 
wanted  to  be  understood,  had  anything  so 
natural  as  a  craving  for  fellowship  or  for  being 
liked.  We  are  a  weird  people,  though  we  look 
so  commonplace.  In  looking  at  photographs 
29 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

of  British  types  among  photographs  of  other 
European  nationalities,  one  is  struck  at  once 
by  something  which  is  in  no  other  of  those 
races — exactly  as  if  we  had  an  extra  skin;  as 
if  the  British  animal  had  been  tamed  longer 
than  the  rest.  And  so  he  has.  His  political, 
social,  legal  life  was  fixed  long  before  that  of 
any  other  Western  country.  He  was  old  be- 
fore the  Mayflower  touched  American  shores 
and  brought  there  avatars,  grave  and  civilised 
as  ever  founded  nation.  There  is  something 
touching  and  terrifying  about  our  character, 
about  the  depth  at  which  it  keeps  its  real 
yearnings,  about  the  perversity  with  which  it 
disguises  them,  and  its  inability  to  show  its 
feelings.  We  are,  deep  down,  under  all  our 
lazy  mentality,  the  most  combative  and  com- 
petitive race  in  the  world,  with  the  exception 
perhaps  of  the  American.  This  is  at  once  a 
spiritual  link  with  America,  and  yet  one  of  the 
great  barriers  to  friendship  between  the  two 
peoples.  Whether  we  are  better  than  French- 
men, Germans,  Russians,  Italians,  Chinese,  or 
any  other  race,  is  of  course  more  than  a  ques- 
tion;   but  those  peoples  are  all  so  different 

30 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

from  us  that  we  are  bound,  I  suppose,  secretly 
to  consider  ourselves  superior.  But  between 
Americans  and  ourselves  under  all  differences 
there  is  some  mysterious  deep  kinship  which 
causes  us  to  doubt,  and  makes  us  irritable,  as 
if  we  were  continually  being  tickled  by  that 
question:  Now  am  I  really  a  better  man  than 
he?  Exactly  what  proportion  of  American 
blood  at  this  time  of  day  is  British,  I  know  not ; 
but  enough  to  make  us  definitely  cousins — 
always  an  awkward  relationship.  We  see  in 
Americans  a  sort  of  image  of  ourselves;  feel 
near  enough,  yet  far  enough,  to  criticise  and 
carp  at  the  points  of  difference.  It  is  as  though 
a  man  went  out  and  encountered,  in  the  street, 
what  he  thought  for  the  moment  was  himself; 
and,  decidedly  disturbed  in  his  self-love,  in- 
stantly began  to  disparage  the  appearance  of 
that  fellow.  Probably  community  of  language 
rather  than  of  blood  accounts  for  our  sense  of 
kinship,  for  a  common  means  of  expression 
cannot  but  mould  thought  and  feeling  into  some 
kind  of  unity.  Certainly  one  can  hardly  over- 
rate the  intimacy  which  a  common  literature 
brings.    The  lives  of  great  Americans,  Wash- 

31 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

ington  and  Franklin,  Lincoln  and  Lee  and 
Grant  are  unsealed  for  us,  just  as  to  Americans 
are  the  lives  of  Marlborough  and  Nelson,  Pitt 
and  Gladstone,  and  Gordon.  Longfellow  and 
Whittier  and  Whitman  can  be  read  by  the 
British  child  as  simply  as  Burns  and  Shelley 
and  Keats.  Emerson  and  William  James  are 
no  more  difficult  to  us  than  Darwin  and  Spencer 
to  Americans.  Without  an  effort  we  rejoice 
in  Hawthorne  and  Mark  Twain,  Henry  James 
and  Howells,  as  Americans  can  in  Dickens  and 
Thackeray,  Meredith  and  Thomas  Hardy. 
And,  more  than  all,  Americans  own  with  our- 
selves all  literature  in  the  English  tongue  before 
the  Mayflower  sailed;  Chaucer  and  Spenser 
and  Shakespeare,  Raleigh,  Ben  Jonson,  and  the 
authors  of  the  English  Bible  Version  are  their 
spiritual  ancestors  as  much  as  ever  they  are 
ours.  The  tie  of  language  is  all-powerful — 
for  language  is  the  food  formative  of  minds. 
Why !  a  volume  could  be  written  on  the  forma- 
tion of  character  by  literary  humour  alone. 
It  has,  I  am  sure,  had  a  say  in  planting  in 
American  and  Briton,  especially  the  British 
townsman,  a  kind  of  bone-deep  defiance  of 
32 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

Fate,  a  readiness  for  anything  which  may  turn 
up,  a  dry,  wry  smile  under  the  blackest  sky, 
an  individual  way  of  looking  at  things,  which 
nothing  can  shake.  Americans  and  Britons 
both,  we  must  and  will  think  for  ourselves,  and 
know  why  we  do  a  thing  before  we  do  it.  We 
have  that  ingrained  respect  for  the  individual 
conscience,  which  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  free 
institutions.  Some  years  before  the  War,  an 
intelligent  and  cultivated  Austrian  who  had 
lived  long  in  England,  was  asked  for  his  opin- 
ion of  the  British.  "In  many  ways,"  he  said, 
"I  think  you  are  inferior  to  us;  but  one  great 
thing  I  have  noticed  about  you  which  we  have 
not.  You  think  and  act  and  speak  for  your- 
selves." If  he  had  passed  those  years  in 
America  instead  of  in  England  he  must  needs 
have  pronounced  the  very  same  judgment  of 
Americans.  Free  speech,  of  course,  like  every 
form  of  freedom,  goes  in  danger  of  its  life  in 
war  time.  In  1917  an  Englishman  in  Russia 
came  on  a  street  meeting  shortly  after  the  first 
revolution  had  begun.  An  Extremist  was  ad- 
dressing the  gathering  and  telling  them  that 
they  were  fools  to  go  on  fighting,  that  they 

33 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

ought  to  refuse  and  go  home,  and  so  forth. 
The  crowd  grew  angry,  and  some  soldiers  were 
for  making  a  rush  at  him ;  but  the  Chairman,  a 
big  burly  peasant,  stopped  them  with  these 
words:  "Brothers,  you  know  that  our  country 
is  now  a  country  of  free  speech.  We  must 
listen  to  this  man,  we  must  let  him  say  any- 
thing he  will.  But,  brothers,  when  he's  fin- 
ished, we'll  bash  his  head  in !" 

I  cannot  assert  that  either  Britons  or  Ameri- 
cans are  incapable  in  times  like  these  of  a  sim- 
ilar interpretation  of  "free  speech."  Things 
have  been  done  in  my  country,  and  perhaps  in 
America,  which  should  make  us  blush.  But 
so  strong  is  the  free  instinct  in  both  countries, 
that  it  will  survive  even  this  War.  Democracy, 
in  fact,  is  a  sham  unless  it  means  the  preserva- 
tion and  development  of  this  instinct  of  think- 
ing for  oneself  throughout  a  people.  "Govern- 
ment of  the  people  by  the  people  for  the  people" 
means  nothing  unless  the  individuals  of  a 
people  keep  their  consciences  unfettered,  and 
think  freely.  Accustom  the  individual  to  be 
nose-led  and  spoon-fed,  and  democracy  is  a 
mere  pretence.    The  measure  of  democracy  is 

34 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

the  measure  of  the  freedom  and  sense  of  indi- 
vidual responsibility  in  its  humblest  citizens. 
And  democracy  is  still  in  the  evolutionary  stage. 
An  English  scientist,  Dr.  Spurrell,  in  a  recent 
book,  "Man  and  his  Forerunners,"  thus  diag- 
noses the  growth  of  civilisations :  A  civilisation 
begins  with  the  enslavement  by  some  hardy 
race  of  a  tame  race  living  a  tame  life  in  more 
congenial  natural  surroundings.  It  is  built 
up  on  slavery,  and  attains  its  maximum  vitality 
in  conditions  little  removed  therefrom.  Then, 
as  individual  freedom  gradually  grows,  disor- 
ganisation sets  in  and  the  civilisation  slowly 
dissolves  away  in  anarchy.  Dr.  Spurrell  does 
not  dogmatise  about  our  present  civilisation, 
but  suggests  that  it  will  probably  follow  the 
civilisations  of  the  past  into  dissolution.  I  am 
not  convinced  of  that,  because  of  certain  fac- 
tors new  to  the  history  of  man.  Recent  dis- 
coveries have  so  unified  the  world,  that  such 
old  isolated  successful  swoops  of  race  on  race 
are  not  now  possible.  In  our  great  Industrial 
States,  it  is  true,  a  new  form  of  slavery  has 
arisen  (the  enslavement  of  men  by  their  ma- 
chines), but  it  is  hardly  of  the  nature  on  which 

35 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

the  civilisations  of  the  past  were  reared.  More- 
over, all  past  civilisations  have  been  more  or 
less  Southern,  and  subject  to  the  sapping  in- 
fluence of  the  sun.  Modern  civilisation  is 
essentially  Northern.  The  individualism,  how- 
ever, which  according  to  Dr.  Spurrell,  dissolved 
the  Empires  of  the  past,  exists  already,  in  a 
marked  degree,  in  every  modern  State;  and  the 
problem  before  us  is  to  discover  how  democracy 
and  liberty  of  the  subject  can  be  made  into 
enduring  props  rather  than  dissolvents.  It  is, 
in  fact,  the  problem  of  making  democracy  gen- 
uine. If  that  cannot  be  achieved  and  per- 
petuated, then  I  agree  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent democracy  drifting  into  an  anarchism 
which  will  dissolve  modern  States,  till  they  are 
the  prey  of  pouncing  Dictators,  or  of  other 
States  not  so  far  gone  in  dissolution — the  same 
process  in  kind  though  different  in  degree  from 
the  old  descents  of  savage  races  on  their  tamer 
neighbours. 

Ever  since  the  substantial  introduction  of 
democracy,  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago 
with  the  American  War  of  Independence,  I 
would  point  out  that  Western  Civilisation  has 

36 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

been  living  on  two  planes  or  levels — the  auto- 
cratic plane  with  which  is  bound  up  the  idea 
of  nationalism,  and  the  democratic,  to  which 
has  become  conjoined  in  some  sort  the  idea  of 
intern ationalism.  Not  only  little  wars,  but 
great  wars  such  as  this,  come  because  of  in- 
equality in  growth,  dissimilarity  of  political  in- 
stitutions between  States;  because  this  State 
or  that  is  basing  its  life  on  different  principles 
from  its  neighbours. 

We  fall  into  glib  usage  of  words  like  democ- 
racy, and  make  fetiches  of  them  without  due 
understanding.  Democracy  is  certainly  in- 
ferior to  autocracy  from  the  aggressively  na- 
tional point  of  view;  it  is  not  necessarily  su- 
perior to  autocracy  as  a  guarantee  of  general 
i  well-being;  it  might  even  turn  out  to  be  in- 
ferior unless  we  can  improve  it.  But  democ- 
racy is  the  rising  tide;  it  may  be  dammed  or 
delayed  but  cannot  be  stopped.  It  seems  to 
be  a  law  in  human  nature  that  where,  in  any 
corporate  society,  the  idea  of  self-government 
sets  foot  it  refuses  ever  to  take  that  foot  up 
again.  State  after  State,  copying  the  Ameri- 
can example,  has  adopted  the  democratic 
37 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

principle;  and  the  world's  face  is  that  way  set. 
Autocracy  has,  practically  speaking,  vanished 
from  the  western  world.  It  is  my  belief  that 
only  in  a  world  thus  uniform  in  its  principles 
of  government,  and  freed  from  the  danger  of 
pounce  by  autocracies,  have  States  any  chance 
to  develop  the  individual  conscience  to  a  point 
which  shall  make  democracy  proof  against 
anarchy,  and  themselves  proof  against  dissolu- 
tion; and  only  in  such  a  world  can  a  League  of 
Nations  to  enforce  peace  succeed. 

But  though  we  have  now  secured  a  single 
plane  for  Western  civilisation  and  ultimately, 
I  hope,  for  the  world,  there  will  be  but  slow 
and  difficult  progress  in  the  lot  of  mankind. 
And  for  this  progress  the  solidarity  of  the 
English-speaking  races  is  vital;  for  without 
that  there  is  but  sand  on  which  to  build. 

The  ancestors  of  the  American  people  sought 
a  new  country,  because  they  had  in  them  a 
reverence  for  the  individual  conscience;  they 
came  from  Britain,  the  first  large  State  in  the 
Christian  era  to  build  up  the  idea  of  political 
freedom.  The  instincts  and  ideals  of  our  two 
races  have  ever  been  the  same.    That  great 

38 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

and  lovable  people  the  French,  with  their  clear 
thought  and  expression,  and  their  quick  blood, 
have  expressed  those  ideals  more  vividly  than 
either  of  us.  But  the  phlegmatic  tenacity  of 
the  English  and  the  dry  tenacity  of  the  American 
temperament  have  ever  made  our  countries 
the  most  settled  and  safe  homes  of  the  indi- 
vidual conscience.  And  we  must  look  to  our 
two  countries  to  guarantee  its  strength  and 
activity.  If  we  English-speaking  races  quarrel 
and  become  disunited,  civilisation  will  split  up 
again  and  go  its  way  to  ruin.  The  individual 
conscience  is  the  heart  of  democracy.  Democ- 
racy is  the  new  order;  of  the  new  order  the 
English-speaking  nations  are  the  ballast. 

I  don't  believe  in  formal  alliances,  or  in 
grouping  nations  to  exclude  and  keep  down 
other  nations.  Friendships  between  countries 
should  have  the  only  true  reality  of  common 
sentiment,  and  be  animated  by  desire  for  the  gen- 
eral welfare  of  mankind.  We  need  no  formal 
bonds,  but  we  have  a  sacred  charge  in  common, 
to  let  no  petty  matters,  differences  of  manner, 
divergencies  of  material  interest,  destroy  our 
spiritual    agreement.    Our    pasts,    our    geo- 

39 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

graphical  positions,  our  temperaments  make  us 
beyond  all  other  races,  the  hope  and  trustees 
of  mankind's  advance  along  the  only  line  now 
open — democratic  internationalism.  It  is  child- 
ish to  claim  for  Americans  or  Britons  virtues 
beyond  those  of  other  nations,  or  to  believe  in 
the  superiority  of  one  national  culture  to  an- 
other; they  are  different,  that  is  all.  It  is  by 
accident  that  we  find  ourselves  in  this  position 
of  guardianship  to  the  main  line  of  human  de- 
velopment; no  need  to  pat  ourselves  on  the 
back  about  it.  But  we  are  at  a  great  and  criti- 
cal moment  in  the  world's  history — how  critical, 
none  of  us  alive  will  ever  realise  to  the  full. 
The  civilisation  slowly  built  since  the  fall  of 
Rome  has  either  to  break  up  and  dissolve  into 
jagged  and  isolated  fragments  through  a  cen- 
tury of  revolutions  and  wars;  or,  unified  and 
reanimated  by  a  single  idea,  to  move  forward 
on  one  plane  and  attain  greater  height  and 
breadth. 

Under  the  pressure  of  this  War  there  has 
often  been,  beneath  the  lip-service  we  pay  to 
democracy,  a  disposition  to  lose  faith  in  it, 
because  of  its  undoubted  weakness  and  incon- 

40 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

venience  in  a  struggle  with  States  autocrati- 
cally governed;  there  has  even  been  a  sort  of 
secret  reaction  towards  autocracy.  On  those 
lines  there  is  no  way  out  of  a  future  of  bitter 
rivalries,  chicanery,  and  wars,  and  the  probable 
total  failure  of  our  civilisation.  The  only  cure 
which  I  can  see,  lies  in  democratising  the  whole 
world,  and  removing  the  present  weaknesses 
and  shams  of  democracy  by  education  of  the 
individual  conscience  in  every  country.  Good- 
bye to  that  chance,  if  Americans  and  Britons 
fall  foul  of  each  other,  refuse  to  make  common 
cause  of  their  thoughts  and  hopes,  and  to  keep 
the  general  welfare  of  mankind  in  view.  They 
have  got  to  stand  together,  not  in  aggressive 
and  jealous  policies,  but  in  defence  and  cham- 
pionship of  the  self-helpful,  self-governing,  '  live 
and  let  live'  philosophy  of  life. 

Who  would  not  desire,  rushing  through  the 
thick  dark  of  the  future,  to  stand  on  the  cliffs 
of  vision — two  hundred  years,  sa}^ — hence — 
and  view  this  world? 

Will  there  then  be  this  League  for  War,  this 
caldron  where,  beneath  the  thin  crust,  a  boil- 
ing lava  bubbles,  and  at  any  minute  may  break 

41 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

through  and  leap  up,  as  of  late,  jet  high?  Will 
there  still  be  reek  and  desolation,  and  man  at 
the  mercy  of  the  machines  he  has  made;  still 
be  narrow  national  policies  and  rancours,  and 
such  mutual  fear,  that  no  country  dare  be 
generous?  Or  will  there  be  over  the  whole 
world  something  of  the  glamour  that  each  one 
of  us  now  sees  hovering  over  his  own  country; 
and  men  and  women — all — feel  they  are  natives 
of  one  land?    Who  dare  say? 

The  guns  have  ceased  fire  and  all  is  still; 
from  the  woods  and  fields  and  seas,  from  the 
skeleton  towns  of  ravaged  countries  the  wist- 
ful dead  rise,  and  with  their  eyes  question  us. 
In  this  hour  we  have  for  answer  only  this:  We 
fought  for  a  better  Future  for  Mankind ! 

Did  we?  Do  we?  That  is  the  great  ques- 
tion. Is  our  gaze  really  fixed  on  the  far  hori- 
zon? Or  do  we  only  dream  it;  and  have  the 
slain  no  comfort  in  their  untimely  darkness; 
the  maimed,  the  ruined,  the  bereaved,  no  shred 
of  consolation?  Is  it  all  to  be  for  nothing  but 
the  salving  of  national  prides?  And  shall  the 
Ironic  Spirit  fill  the  whole  world  with  his 
laughter? 

42 


AMERICAN  AND  BRITON 

The  House  of  the  Future  is  always  dark. 
There  are  few  cornerstones  to  be  discerned  in 
the  Temple  of  our  Fate.  But,  of  these  few, 
one  is  the  brotherhood  and  bond  of  the  English- 
speaking  races;  not  for  narrow  purposes,  but 
that  mankind  may  yet  see  Faith  and  Good 
Will  enshrined,  yet  breathe  a  sweeter  air,  and 
know  a  life  where  Beauty  passes,  with  the  sun 
on  her  wings. 

We  want  in  the  lives  of  men  a  "Song  of 
Honour,"  as  in  Ralph  Hodgson's  poem: 

"The  song  of  men  all  sorts  and  kinds 
As  many  tempers,  moods  and  minds 
As  leaves  are  on  a  tree, 
As  many  faiths  and  castes  and  creeds 
As  many  human  bloods  and  breeds 
As  in  the  world  may  be." 

In  the  making  of  that  song  the  Englisn- 
speaking  races  will  assuredly  unite.  What  set 
this  world  in  motion  we  know  not;  the  Prin- 
ciple of  Life  is  inscrutable  and  will  for  ever  be; 
but  we  do  know,  that  Earth  is  yet  on  the  up- 
grade of  existence,  the  mountain  top  of  man's 
life  not  reached,  that  many  centuries  of  growth 
43 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

are  yet  in  front  of  us  before  Time  begins  to 
chill  this  planet,  till  it  swims,  at  last,  another 
moon,  in  space.  In  the  climb  to  that  moun- 
tain top,  of  a  happy  life  for  mankind,  our  two 
great  nations  are  as  guides  who  go  before, 
roped  together  in  perilous  ascent.  On  their 
nerve,  loyalty,  and  w  sdom,  the  adventure  now 
hangs.  What  American  or  British  knife  would 
sever  the  rope  ? 

He  who  ever  gives  a  thought  to  the  life  of 
man  at  large,  to  his  miseries,  and  disappoint- 
ments, to  the  waste  and  cruelty  of  existence, 
will  remember  that  if  American  or  Briton  fail 
in  this  climb,  there  can  but  be  for  us  both,  and 
for  all  other  peoples,  a  hideous  slip,  a  swift 
and  fearful  fall  into  an  abyss,  whence  all  shall 
be  to  begin  over  again. 

We  shall  not  fail — neither  ourselves,  nor  each 
other.    Our  comradeship  will  endure. 


44 


Ill 

FROM  A  SPEECH  AT  THE  LOTUS 
CLUB,  NEW  YORK 

I  WONDER  whether  you  in  America  can 
realise  what  an  entrancing  voyage  of  dis- 
covery you  represent  to  us  primeval  Anglo- 
Britons.  I  prefer  that  term  to  Anglo-Saxon, 
for  even  if  we  English  glory  in  the  thought  that 
our  seaborne  ancestors  were  extremely  blood- 
thirsty, we  have  no  evidence  that  they  brought 
their  own  women  to  Britain  in  any  quantities, 
or  had  the  power  of  reproducing  themselves 
without  aid  from  the  other  sex ! 

Can  you,  I  say,  realise  how  much  more  en- 
ticing to  my  English  mind  America  is,  than  the 
Arabian  Nights  were  to  your  fascinating  fab- 
ulist, 0.  Henry?  One  longs  to  unriddle  to 
oneself  the  significance  and  sense  of  America. 
In  the  English-speaking  world  to-day  we  need 
understanding  of  each  others'  natures,  aims, 
sympathies,  and  dislikes.  For  without  under- 
45 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

standing  we  become  doctrinaire  and  partizan, 
building  our  ship  in  compartments  very  water- 
tight, and  getting  into  them  and  shutting  the 
doors  when  the  ship  threatens  to  go  down. 

We  English  have  a  reputation  for  self- 
sufficiency.  But  speaking  for  myself,  who 
find  no  name  that  is  not  English  in  my  gene- 
alogy, I  never  can  get  up  quite  the  interest  in 
my  own  race  that  I  can  in  others.  We  Eng- 
lish are  so  set  and  made,  you  Americans  are 
yet  in  the  making.  We  at  most  experience 
modification  of  type;  you  are  in  process  of 
creating  one.  I  have  often  asked  Americans: 
What  is  now  the  American  type?  and  have 
been  answered  by — a  smile.  When  I  go  back 
home  my  countrymen  will  ask  me  the  same 
question.  I  would  I  could  sit  down  and  listen 
to  you  telling  me  what  it  is. 

It  will  not  have  escaped  you,  at  all  events, 
that  for  four  years  the  various  branches  of  the 
English-speaking  peoples  have  been  credited 
with  all  the  virtues — a  love  of  liberty,  human- 
ity, and  justice  has,  as  it  were,  been  patented 
for  them  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
under  the  Southern  Cross,  till  one  has  come  to 
46 


AT  THE  LOTUS  CLUB 

listen  with  a  sort  of  fascinated  terror  for  those 
three  words  to  tinkle  from  the  tongue.  I  am 
prepared  to  sacrifice  a  measure  of  the  truth 
sooner  than  pronounce  them  to-night.  Let 
me  rather  speak  of  those  lower  qualities  which 
I  think  we  English-speaking  peoples  possess 
in  a  conspicuous  degree:  Commonsense  and 
Energy.  From  those  vulgar  attributes,  I  am 
sure,  the  historian  of  the  far  future  will  say 
that  the  English-speaking  era  has  germinated; 
and  that  by  those  vulgar  attributes  it  will 
flourish.  Deep  in  the  American  spirit  and  in 
the  English  spirit  is  a  curious  intense  realism — 
sometimes  very  highly  camouflaged  by  hot  air 
— an  instinct  for  putting  the  finger  on  the  but- 
ton of  life,  and  pressing  it  there  till  the  bell 
rings.  We  are  so  extraordinarily  successful 
that  we  may  expect  the  historian  of  the  far 
future  to  write:  'The  English-speaking  races 
were  so  rapid  in  their  subjugation  of  the  forces 
of  Nature,  so  prodigal  of  inventions,  so  eager 
in  their  use  of  them,  so  extremely  practical, 
and  altogether  so  successful,  that  the  only 
thing  they  missed  was — happiness.' 
When  I  read  of  some  great  new  American 
47 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

invention,  or  of  a  Lord  Leverhulme  converting 
an  island  of  Lewis  into  a  commercial  Paradise, 
I  confess  to  trembling.  Gentlemen,  it  is  a 
melancholy  fact  that  the  complete  man  does 
not  live  by  invention  and  trade  alone.  At  the 
risk  of  being  laughed  out  of  Paradise,  I  dare 
put  in  a  plea  for  Beauty.  Both  our  peoples, 
indeed,  are  so  severely  practical  that  I  do  feel 
we  run  the  risk  of  getting  machine-made,  and 
coming  actually  to  look  down  on  those  who  give 
themselves  to  anything  so  unpractical  as  the 
love  of  Beauty.  Now,  I  venture  to  think  that 
the  spirit  of  the  old  builders  of  Seville  cathedral: 
'Let  us  make  us  a  church  such  as  the  world 
has  never  seen  before ! '  ought  to  inspire  us  in 
these  days  too.  'But  it  does,  my  dear  Sir.'  I 
shall  be  answered:  'We  make  flying  machines, 
and  iron  foundries,  Palace  hotels,  stock-yards, 
self-playing  pianos,  film  pictures,  cocktails,  and 
ladies'  hats,  such  as  the  world  has  never  seen 
before.  A  fig  for  the  Giralda,  the  Sphynx, 
Shakespeare,  and  Michael  Angelo!  They  did 
not  elevate  the  lot  of  man.  We  are  for  inven- 
tion, industry,  and  trade.'  Far  be  it  from  me 
to  run  down  any  of  those  things,  so  excellent  in 

48 


AT  THE  LOTUS  CLUB 

moderation;  but  since  I  solemnly  aver  that 
man's  greatest  quality  is  the  sense  of  proportion, 
I  feel  that  if  he  neglects  Beauty  (which  is  but 
proportion  elegantly  cooked) — the  'result  of 
perfect  economy'  Emerson  had  it — he  sags 
backwards,  no  matter  how  inventive  and  com- 
mercially successful  he  may  be. 

But  this  is  to  become  grave,  which  is  de- 
testable, even  in  a  country  which  has  just 
been  taking  its  ticket  for  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

I  believe  I  shall  yet  see  (unless  I  perish  of 
public  speaking)  America  taking  the  long  cut 
to  Beauty — for  there  are  no  short  cuts  to  Her, 
no  cheap  nostrums  by  which  she  can  be  con- 
jured from  the  blue.  Beauty  and  Simplicity 
are  the  natural  antidotes  to  the  feverish  in- 
dustrialism of  our  age.  If  only  America  will 
begin  to  take  them  freely  she  has  it  in  her 
power  to  re-inspire  in  us  older  peoples,  just  now 
rather  breathless  and  exhausted,  the  belief  in 
Beauty,  and  a  new  fervour  for  the  creation  of 
fine  and  rare  things.  If  on  the  other  hand 
America  turns  Beauty  down  as  a  dangerous 
'bit  of  fluff'  and  Simplicity  as  an  impecunious 
alien,  we  over  there,  one  behind  the  other,  will 

49 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

sink  into  a  soup  of  utilitarianism  so  thick  that 
we  may  never  get  out. 

Gentlemen,  I  long  to  see  established  between 
the  English-speaking  peoples  a  fellowship,  not 
only  in  matters  political  and  commercial,  im- 
portant as  these  are,  but  in  philosophy  and  art. 
For  after  all  those  laughing-stocks,  philosophy 
and  art — the  beautiful  expression  of  our  highest 
thoughts  and  fancies — are  the  lanterns  of  a 
nation's  life,  and  we  ought  to  hang  them  in 
each  others'  houses. 


50 


IV 

FROM  A  SPEECH  TO  THE  SOCIETY 

OF  ARTS  AND  SCIENCES, 

NEW  YORK 

I  DO  not  know  what  your  chief  thought  is 
now;  for  me  the  overmastering  thought 
is  that  of  Creation — Re-creation.  You  know 
when  we  look  at  a  bit  of  moorland  where  the 
gorse  and  heather  have  been  burned — swaled 
we  call  it  in  Devon — how  we  delight  in  the 
green,  pushing  up  among  the  black  shrivelled 
roots.  I  long  to  see  the  green  pushing  up,  the 
creative  impulse  at  work  in  its  thousand  ways 
all  over  the  world  again;  each  of  us  on  both 
continents  in  his  own  line  doing  creative  work; 
and  not  so  much  that  wealth  and  comfort,  as 
that  health  and  beauty  may  be  born  again. 

But,  confronting  as  I  do  to-night,  the  Arts 

and  Sciences,  let  me  divide  my  words.    You 

sciences  have  no  need  to  listen.    You  have 

never  had  such  a  heyday  as  this;   in  engineer- 

51 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

ing,  in  chemistry,  in  surgery,  in  every  branch 
except  perhaps  'star-gazing/  you  have  been 
shooting  ahead,  earning  fresh  laurels,  putting 
new  discoveries  at  the  service  of  bewildered 
Man.  Science  drags  no  lame  foot,  it  dances 
along  like  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin.  I  had 
better  not  pursue  the  simile.  But  the  Arts, 
with  faces  muffled  to  the  eyes,  stand  against  the 
walls  of  life,  and  gaze  a  little  enviously,  a  little 
mournfully  at  the  passing  rout.  This  is  not 
their  time  for  carnival;  their  lovers  sleep,  heavy 
with  war  and  toil.  It  is  to  those  poor  wall- 
flowers the  Arts,  that  I  would  speak:  Drop  your 
veils,  have  the  courage  of  your  charms;  you 
shall  break  many  a  heart  yet,  make  many  a 
lover  happy. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  have  all  noticed 
as  I  have  the  difference  between  a  town  by 
daylight  and  a  town  by  night;  well,  the  day- 
light town  belongs  to  the  Sciences,  the  night- 
lit  town  to  the  Arts.  I  don't  mean  that  artists 
are  night-birds,  though  I  have  heard  of  such  a 
case;  I  mean  that  the  Arts  live  on  Mystery  and 
Imagination.  Have  you  ever  thought  how  we 
should  get  through  if  we  had  to  live  in  a  town 

52 


SOCIETY  OF  ARTS  AND  SCIENCES 

which  never  put  on  the  filmy  dark  robe  of  night, 
so  that  hour-in,  hour-out  we  had  to  stare  at 
things  garbed  in  the  efficient  overalls  of  Science, 
with  their  prices  properly  pinned  on?  How 
long  would  it  be  before  we  found  ourselves  in 
Coney  Hatch?  Well,  we  are  in  a  fair  way  to 
abolish  Night— Mystery  and  Imagination  are 
'off,'  as  they  say,  and  that  way  sooner  or  later 
madness  lies. 

It  is  time  the  Arts  left  off  leaning  against  the 
wall,  and  took  their  share  of  the  dance  again. 
We  want  them  to  be  as  creative,  nay,  as  seduc- 
tive as  the  Sciences.  We  have  seen  Science 
work  miracles  of  late;  now  let  Art  work  her 
miracles  in  turn. 

People  are  inclined  to  smile  at  me  when  I 
suggest  that  you  in  America  are  at  the  com- 
mencement of  a  period  of  fine  and  vigorous 
Art.  The  signs,  they  say,  are  all  the  other 
way.  Of  course  you  ought  to  know  best;  all 
the  same,  I  stick  to  my  opinion  with  British 
obstinacy,  and  I  believe  I  shall  see  it  justified. 


53 


ADDRESS  AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

A  DOUBTER  of  the  general  divinity  of  our 
civilisation  is  labelled  ' pedant.'  Anyone 
who  questions  modem  progress  is  tabooed. 
And  yet  there  is  no  doubt,  I  think,  that  we  are 
getting  feverish,  rushed,  complicated,  and  have 
multiplied  conveniences  to  such  an  extent  that 
we  do  little  with  them  but  scrape  the  surface  of 
life. 

We  were  rattling  into  a  species  of  barbarism 
when  the  war  came,  and  unless  we  check  our- 
selves shall  continue  to  rattle  now  that  it  is 
over.  The  underlying  cause  in  every  country 
is  the  increase  of  herd-life,  based  on  machines, 
money-getting,  and  the  dread  of  being  dull. 
Everyone  knows  how  fearfully  strong  that  dread 
is.  But  to  be  capable  of  being  dull  is  in  itself 
a  disease. 

And  most  of  modern  life  seems  to  be  a  proc- 
ess of  creating  disease,  then  finding  a  remedy, 
54 


AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

which  in  its  turn  creates  another  disease,  de- 
manding fresh  remedy,  and  so  on.  We  pride 
ourselves,  for  example,  on  scientific  sanitation; 
but  what  is  scientific  sanitation  if  not  one  huge 
palliative  of  evils  which  have  arisen  from  herd- 
life  enabling  herd-life  to  be  intensified,  so  that 
we  shall  presently  need  even  more  scientific 
sanitation?  The  true  elixirs  vitae — for  there 
be  two,  I  think — are  open-air  life,  and  a  proud 
pleasure  in  one's  work,  but  we  have  evolved  a 
mode  of  existence  in  which  it  is  comparatively 
rare  to  find  these  two  conjoined.  In  old  coun- 
tries such  as  mine,  the  evils  of  herd-life  are  at 
present  vastly  more  acute  than  in  a  new  coun- 
try such  as  yours.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
further  one  is  from  hades,  the  faster  one  drives 
towards  it,  and  machines  are  beginning  to  run 
along  with  America  even  more  violently  than 
with  Europe. 

When  our  Tanks  first  appeared,  they  were 
described  as  snouting  monsters  creeping  at  their 
own  sweet  will.  I  confess  that  this  is  how  my 
inflamed  eye  sees  all  our  modern  machines — 
monsters  running  on  their  own,  dragging  us 
along,  and  very  often  squashing  us. 

55 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

We  are,  I  believe,  awakening  to  the  dangers 
of  this  'Gadarening/  of  rushing  down  the  high 
cliff  into  the  sea,  possessed  and  pursued  by  the 
devils  of — machinery.  But  if  any  would  see 
how  little  alarmed  he  really  is — let  him  ask 
himself  how  much  of  his  present  mode  of  exist- 
ence he  is  prepared  to  alter.  Altering  the 
modes  of  other  people  is  delightful ;  one  would 
have  great  hope  of  the  future  if  we  had  nothing 
before  us  but  that.  The  mediaeval  Irishman, 
indicted  for  burning  down  the  cathedral  at 
Armagh,  together  with  the  Archbishop,  de- 
fended himself  thus:  "As  for  the  cathedral, 
'tis  true  I  burned  it;  but  indeed  an'  I  wouldn't 
have,  only  they  told  me  himself  was  inside." 
We  are  all  ready  to  alter  our  opponents,  if  not 
to  burn  them.  But  even  if  we  were  as  ardent 
reformers  as  that  Irishman,  we  could  hardly 
force  men  to  live  in  the  open,  or  take  a  proud 
pleasure  in  their  work,  or  enjoy  beauty,  or  not 
concentrate  themselves  on  making  money. 
No  amount  of  legislation  will  make  us  "lilies 
of  the  field"  or  "birds  of  the  air,"  or  prevent 
us  from  worshipping  false  gods,  or  neglecting 
to  reform  ourselves. 

56 


AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

I  once  wrote  the  unpopular  sentence:  "De- 
mocracy at  present  offers  the  spectacle  of  a 
man  running  down  a  road  followed  at  a  more 
and  more  respectful  distance  by  his  own  soul." 
For  democracy  read  rather  the  words  modern 
civilisation  which  prides  itself  on  redress  after 
the  event,  foresees  nothing  and  avoids  less;  is 
purely  empirical  if  one  may  use  so  high  brow  a 
word. 

I  look  very  eagerly  and  watchfully  to  America 
in  many  ways.  After  the  war  she  will  be  more 
emphatically  than  ever,  in  material  things,  the 
most  important  and  powerful  nation  of  the 
earth.  We  British  have  a  legitimate  and  some- 
what breathless  interest  in  the  use  she  will 
make  of  her  strength,  and  in  the  course  of  her 
national  life,  for  this  will  greatly  influence  the 
course  of  our  own.  But  power  for  real  light 
and  leading  in  America  will  depend,  not  so 
much  on  her  material  wealth,  or  her  armed 
force,  as  on  what  her  attitude  towards  life,  and 
what  the  ideals  of  her  citizens  are  going  to  be. 
Americans  have  a  certain  eagerness  for  knowl- 
edge; they  have  also,  for  all  their  absorption 
in  success,  the  aspiring  eye.    They  do  want  the 

57 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

good  thing.  They  don't  always  know  when 
they  see  it,  but  they  want  it.  These  qualities, 
in  combination  with  material  strength,  give 
America  her  chance.  Yet,  if  she  does  not  set 
her  face  against  "  Gadarening,"  we  are  all  bound 
for  downhill.  If  she  goes  in  for  spreadeagleism, 
if  her  aspirations  are  towards  quantity,  not 
quality,  we  shall  all  go  on  being  commonised. 
If  she  should  get  that  purse-and-power-proud 
fever  which  comes  from  national  success,  we 
are  all  bound  for  another  world  flare-up.  The 
burden  of  proving  that  democracy  can  be  real 
and  yet  live  up  to  an  ideal  of  health  and  beauty 
will  be  on  America's  shoulders,  and  on  ours. 
What  are  we  and  Americans  going  to  make  of 
our  inner  life,  of  our  individual  habits  of 
thought  ?  What  are  we  going  to  reverence,  and 
what  despise?  Do  we  mean  to  lead,  in  spirit 
and  in  truth,  not  in  mere  money  and  guns? 
Britain  is  an  old  country,  though  still  in  her 
prime,  I  hope;  America  is  yet  on  the  threshold. 
Is  she  to  step  out  into  the  sight  of  the  world  as 
a  great  leader?  That  is  for  America  the  long 
decision,  to  be  worked  out,  not  so  much  in 
her  Senate  and  her  Congress,  as  in  her  homes 

58 


AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

and  schools.  On  America,  now  that  the  war 
is  over,  the  destiny  of  civilisation  may  hang  for 
the  next  century.  If  she  mislays,  indeed  if  she 
does  not  improve  the  power  of  self-criticism — 
that  special  diy  American  humour  which  the 
great  Lincoln  had — she  might  soon  develop  the 
intolerant  provincialism  which  has  so  often 
been  the  bane  of  the  earth  and  the  undoing  of 
nations.  Above  all,  if  she  does  not  solve  the 
problems  of  town  life,  of  Capital  and  Labour, 
of  the  distribution  of  wealth,  of  national  health, 
and  attain  to  a  mastery  over  inventions  and 
machinery — she  is  in  for  a  cycle  of  mere  anarchy, 
disruption,  and  dictatorships,  into  which  we 
shall  all  follow.  The  motto  "noblesse  oblige" 
applies  as  much  to  democracy  as  ever  it  did 
to  the  old-time  aristocrat.  It  applies  with 
terrific  vividness  to  America.  Ancestry  and 
Nature  have  bestowed  on  her  great  gifts.  Be- 
hind her  stand  Conscience,  Enterprise,  Inde- 
pendence, and  Ability — such  were  the  com- 
panions of  the  first  Americans,  and  are  the 
comrades  of  American  citizens  to  this  day. 
She  has  abounding  energy,  an  unequalled  spirit 
of  discovery,  a  vast  territory  not  half  devel- 

59 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

oped,  and  great  natural  beauty.    I  remember 
sitting    on    a   bench    overlooking   the    Grand 
Canyon  of  Arizona;   the  sun  was  shining  into 
it,  and  a  snow  storm  was  whirling  down  there. 
All  that  most  marvellous  work  of  Nature  was 
flooded  to  the  brim  with  rose  and  tawny-gold, 
with  white,  and  wine-dark  shadows;   the  co- 
lossal carvings  as  of  huge  rock-gods  and  sacri- 
ficial altars,  and  great  beasts  along  its  sides, 
were  made  living  by  the  very  mystery  of  light 
and  darkness,  on  that  violent  day  of  Spring; 
I  remember  sitting  there,  and  an  old  gentle- 
man passing  close  behind,  leaning  towards  me 
and  saying  in  a  sly,  gentle  voice:  " How  are  you 
going  to  tell  it  to  the  folks  at  home ?"    America 
has  so  much,  that  one  despairs  of  telling  to  the 
folks  at  home,  so  much  grand  beauty  to  be  to 
her  an  inspiration  and  uplift  towards  high  and 
free    thought    and    vision.     Great    poems    of 
Nature  she  has,  wrought  in  the  large,  to  make 
of  her  and  keep  her  a  noble  people.     In  my  be- 
loved Britain — all  told,  not  half  the  size  of 
Texas — there  is  a  quiet  beauty  of  a  sort  which 
America  has  not.    I  walked  not  long  ago  from 
Worthing  to  the  little  village  of  Steyning,  in 

60 


AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

the  South  Downs.  It  was  such  a  day  as  one 
seldom  gets  in  England;  when  the  sun  was 
dipping  and  there  came  on  the  cool  chalky  hills 
the  smile  of  late  afternoon,  and  across  a  smooth 
valley  on  the  rim  of  the  Downs  one  saw  a  tiny 
group  of  trees,  one  little  building,  and  a  stack, 
against  the  clear-blue,  pale  sky — it  was  like  a 
glimpse  of  heaven,  so  utterly  pure  in  line  and 
colour  so  removed,  and  touching.  The  tale  of 
loveliness  in  our  land  is  varied  and  unending, 
but  it  is  not  in  the  grand  manner.  America 
has  the  grand  manner  in  her  scenery  and  in  her 
blood,  for  in  America  all  are  the  children  of 
adventure,  every  single  man  an  emigrant  him- 
self or  a  descendant  of  one  who  had  the  pluck 
to  emigrate.  She  has  already  had  past-masters 
in  dignity,  but  she  has  still  to  reach  as  a  nation 
the  grand  manner  in  achievement.  She  knows 
her  own  dangers  and  failings;  her  qualities  and 
powers;  but  she  cannot  realise  the  intense  con- 
cern and  interest,  deep  down  behind  our  pro- 
voking stolidities,  with  which  we  of  the  old 
country  watch  her,  feeling  that  what  she  does 
reacts  on  us  above  all  nations,  and  will  ever 
react   more   and   more.    Underneath   surface 

61 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

differences  and  irritations  we  English-speaking 
peoples  are  fast  bound  together.  May  it  not 
be  in  misery  and  iron !  If  America  walks  up- 
right, so  shall  we;  if  she  goes  bowed  under  the 
weight  of  machines,  money,  and  materialism, 
we  too  shall  creep  our  ways.  We  run  a  long 
race,  we  nations;  a  generation  is  but  a  day. 
But  in  a  day  a  man  may  leave  the  track,  and 
never  again  recover  it !  Nations  depend  for 
their  health  and  safety  on  the  behaviour  of  the 
individuals  who  compose  them. 

Modern  man  is  a  very  new  and  marvellous 
creature.  Without  quite  realising  it,  we  have 
evolved  a  fresh  species  of  stoic — even  more 
stoical,  I  suspect,  than  were  the  old  Stoics. 
Modern  man  stands  on  his  own  feet.  His  re- 
ligion is  to  take  what  comes  without  flinching 
or  complaint,  as  part  of  the  day's  work,  which 
an  unknowable  God,  Providence,  Creative  Prin- 
ciple, has  appointed.  By  courage  and  kindness 
modern  man  exists,  warmed  by  the  glow  of  the 
great  human  fellowship.  He  has  re-discovered 
the  old  Greek  saying:  "God  is  the  helping  of 
man  by  man";  has  found  out  in  his  unself con- 
scious way  that  if  he  does  not  help  himself, 

62 


AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

and  help  his  fellows,  he  cannot  reach  that  inner 
peace  which  satisfies.  To  do  his  bit;  and  to 
be  kind !  It  is  by  that  creed,  rather  than  by 
any  mysticism,  that  he  finds  the  salvation  of 
his  soul,  for,  of  a  truth,  the  religion  of  this  age 
is  conduct. 

After  all,  does  not  the  only  real  spiritual 
warmth,  not  tinged  by  Pharisaism,  egotism,  or 
cowardice,  come  from  the  feeling  of  doing  your 
work  well  and  helping  others;  is  not  all  the 
rest  embroidery,  luxury,  pastime,  pleasant 
sound  and  incense?  Modern  man  is  a  realist 
with  too  romantic  a  sense,  perhaps,  of  the  mys- 
tery which  surrounds  existence,  to  piy  into  it. 
And,  like  modern  civilisation  itself,  he  is  the 
creature  of  West  and  North,  of  those  atmos- 
pheres, climates,  manners,  of  life,  which  foster 
neither  inertia,  reverence,  nor  mystic  medita- 
tion. Essentially  man  of  action,  in  ideal  ac- 
tion he  finds  his  only  true  comfort.  I  am  sure 
that  padres  at  the  front  have  seen  that  the 
men  whose  souls  they  have  gone  out  to  tend, 
are  living  the  highest  form  of  religion;  that  in 
their  comic  courage,  unselfish  humanity,  their 
endurance  without  whimper  of  things  worse 

63 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

than  death,  they  have  gone  beyond  all  pulpit- 
and-deathbed  teaching.  And  who  are  these 
men  ?  Just  the  early  manhood  of  the  race,  just 
modern  man  as  he  was  before  the  war  began, 
and  will  be  now  that  the  war  is  over. 

This  modern  world,  of  which  we  English  and 
Americans  are  perhaps  the  truest  types,  stands 
revealed  from  beneath  its  froth,  frippery,  and 
vulgar  excrescences,  sound  at  core — a  world 
whose  implicit  motto  is:  "The  good  of  all  hu- 
manity." But  the  herd-life  which  is  its  char- 
acteristic, brings  many  evils,  has  many  dangers ; 
and  to  preserve  a  sane  mind  in  a  healthy  body 
is  the  riddle  before  us.  Somehow  we  must  free 
ourselves  from  the  driving  domination  of  ma- 
chines and  money-getting,  not  only  for  our  own 
sakes  but  for  that  of  all  mankind. 

And  there  is  another  thing  of  the  most 
solemn  importance:  We  English-speaking  na- 
tions are  by  chance  as  it  were,  the  ballast  of  the 
future.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  hap- 
piness of  the  world  that  we  should  remain 
united.  The  comradeship  that  we  now  feel 
must  and  surely  shall  abide.  For  unless  we 
work  together,  and  in  no  selfish  or  exclusive 
spirit — Goodbye  to  Civilisation !    It  will  van- 

64 


AT  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 

ish  like  the  dew  off  grass.  The  betterment  not 
only  of  the  British  nations  and  America,  but 
of  all  mankind  is  and  must  be  our  object. 

From  all  our  hearts  a  great  weight  has  been 
lifted;  in  those  fields  death  no  longer  sweeps 
his  scythe,  and  our  ears  at  last  are  free  from 
the  rustling  thereof — now  comes  the  test  of 
magnanimity,  in  all  countries.  Will  modern 
man  rise  to  the  ordering  of  a  sane,  a  free,  a 
generous  life  ?  Each  of  us  loves  his  own  coun- 
try best,  be  it  a  little  land  or  the  greatest  on 
earth;  but  jealousy  is  the  dark  thing,  the  creep- 
ing poison.  Where  there  is  true  greatness,  let 
us  acclaim  it;  where  there  is  true  worth,  let 
us  prize  it — as  if  it  were  our  own. 

This  earth  is  made  too  subtly,  of  too  multiple 
warp  and  woof,  for  prophecy.  When  he  sur- 
veys the  world  around — athe  wondrous  things 
which  there  abound,"  the  prophet  closes  foolish 
lips.  Besides,  as  the  historian  tells  us :  "  Writers 
have  that  undeterminateness  of  spirit  which 
commonly  makes  literary  men  of  no  use  in  the 
world."  So  I,  for  one,  prophesy  not.  Still, 
we  do  know  this:  All  English-speaking  peoples 
will  go  to  this  adventure  of  Peace  with  some- 
thing of  big  purpose  and  spirit  in  their  hearts, 

65 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

with  something  of  free  outlook.  The  world  is 
wide  and  Nature  bountiful  enough  for  all,  if 
we  keep  sane  minds.  The  earth  is  fair  and 
meant  to  be  enjoyed,  if  we  keep  sane  bodies. 
Who  dare  affront  this  world  of  beauty  with 
mean  views?  There  is  no  darkness  but  what 
the  ape  in  us  still  makes,  and  in  spite  of  all  his 
monkey-tricks  modern  man  is  at  heart  further 
from  the  ape  than  man  has  yet  been. 

To  do  our  jobs  really  well  and  to  be  brotherly ! 
To  seek  health  and  ensue  Beauty!  If,  in 
Britain  and  America,  in  all  the  English-speak- 
ing nations,  we  can  put  that  simple  faith  into 
real  and  thorough  practice,  what  may  not  this 
century  yet  bring  forth  ?  Shall  man,  the  high- 
est product  of  creation,  be  content  to  pass  his 
little  day  in  a  house  like  unto  Bedlam? 

When  the  present  great  task  in  which  we 
have  joined  hands  is  really  ended;  when  once 
more  from  the  shuttered  mad-house  the  figure 
of  Peace  steps  forth  and  stands  in  the  risen  sun, 
and  we  may  go  our  ways  again  in  the  wonder 
of  a  new  morning — let  it  be  with  this  vow  in 
our  hearts:  "No  more  of  Madness — in  War,  or 
in  Peace!" 

66 


VI 

TO  THE  LEAGUE  OF  POLITICAL 
EDUCATION,  NEW  YORK 

STANDING  here,  privileged  to  address  my 
betters — I,  the  least  politically  educated 
person  in  the  world,  have  two  thoughts  to 
leave  on  the  air.  They  arise  from  the  title  of 
your  League. 

I  wish  I  did  not  feel,  speaking  in  the  large, 
that  politics  and  education  have  but  a  bowing 
acquaintanceship  in  the  modern  State;  and  I 
wish  I  did  feel  that  either  education  or  politics 
had  any  definite  idea  of  what  they  were  out  to 
attain;  in  other  words,  had  a  clear  image  of 
the  ideal  State.  It  seems  to  me  that  their 
object  at  present  is  just  to  keep  the  heads  of 
the  citizens  of  the  modern  State  above  water; 
to  keep  them  alive,  without  real  concern  as  to 
what  kind  of  life  they  are  being  preserved  for. 
We  seem,  in  fact,  to  be  letting  our  civilisation 

67 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

run  us,  instead  of  running  our  civilisation.  If 
a  man  does  not  know  where  he  wants  to  go,  he 
goes  where  circumstances  and  the  telephone 
take  him.  Where  do  we  want  to  go?  Can 
you  answer  me?  Have  you  any  definite  idea? 
What  is  the  Ultima  Thule  of  our  longings  ?  I 
suppose  one  ought  to  say,  roughly,  that  the 
modern  ideal  is:  Maximum  production  of 
wealth  to  the  square  mile  of  a  country — an 
ideal  which,  seeing  that  a  man  normally  pro- 
duces wealth  in  surplus  to  his  own  requirements, 
signifies  logically  a  maximum  head  of  popula- 
tion to  the  square  mile.  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  great  modern  fallacy  is  the  identifica- 
tion of  the  word  wealth  with  the  word  welfare. 
Granted  that  demand  creates  supply,  and  that 
it  is  impossible  to  stop  human  nature  from  de- 
manding, the  problem  is  surely  to  direct  de- 
mand into  the  best  channels  for  securing  health 
and  happiness.  And  I  venture  to  say  that  the 
mere  blind  production  of  wealth  and  popula- 
tion by  no  means  fills  that  bill.  We  ought  to 
produce  wealth  only  in  such  ways  and  to  such 
an  extent  as  shall  make  us  all  good,  clean, 
healthy,  intelligent,  and  beautiful  to  look  at. 

68 


LEAGUE  OF  POLITICAL  EDUCATION 

That  is  the  end,  and  production  whether  of 
wealth  or  population  only  the  means  to  that 
end,  to  be  regulated  accordingly.  As  things 
are,  we  confuse  the  means  with  the  end,  and 
make  of  production  a  fetich. 

Let  me  take  a  parallel  from  the  fields  of  Art. 
What  kind  of  good  in  the  world  is  an  artist  who 
sets  to  work  to  cover  the  utmost  possible  acre- 
age of  canvas,  or  to  spoil  the  greatest  possible 
number  of  reams  of  paper,  in  deference  to  the 
call  from  a  vulgar  and  undiscriminating  market 
for  all  he  can  produce?  Do  we  admire  him — 
a  man  whose  ideal  is  blind  supply  to  meet  blind 
demand  ? 

The  most  urgent  need  of  the  world  to-day  is 
to  learn — or  is  it  to  re-learn? — the  love  of 
quality.  And  how  are  we  to  learn  that  in  a 
democratic  age,  unless  we  so  perfect  our  elec- 
toral machineries  as  to  be  sure  that  we  secure 
for  our  leaders,  and  especially  for  our  leaders 
of  education,  men  and  women  who,  themselves 
worshipping  quality,  will  see  that  the  love  of 
quality  is  instilled  into  the  boys  and  girls  of 
the  nation. 

After  all,  we  have  some  common  sense,  and 
69 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

we  really  cannot  contemplate  much  longer  the 
grimy,  giinding  monster  of  modern  industrial- 
ism without  feeling  that  we  are  becoming  dis- 
inherited, instead  of — as  we  are  brought  up  to 
think — heirs  to  an  ever-increasing  fortune. 

It  seems  to  me  that  no  amount  of  political 
evolution  or  revolution  is  going  to  do  us  any 
good  unless  it  is  accompanied  by  evolution  or 
revolution  in  ideals.  What  does  it  matter 
whether  one  class  holds  the  reins,  or  another 
class  holds  the  reins,  if  the  dominant  impulse 
in  the  population  remains  the  craving  for  wealth 
without  the  power  of  discriminating  whether 
or  not  that  wealth  is  taking  forms  which  pro- 
mote health  and  happiness. 

A  new  educational  charter — a  charter  of  taste, 
affirming  the  rule  of  dignity,  beauty,  and  sim- 
plicity, is  wanted  before  political  change  can 
turn  out  to  be  anything  but  cheap-jack  nos- 
trums, and  a  mere  shuffling  around. 

I  would  just  cite  three  of  the  many  changes 
necessary  for  any  advance: 

(1)  The  reduction  of  working  hours  to  a 
point  that  would  enable  men  and 
women  to  live  lives  of  wider  interest. 
70 


LEAGUE  OF  POLITICAL  EDUCATION 

(2)  The  abolition  of  smoke — which  surely 

should  not  be  beyond  attainment  in 
this  scientific  age. 

(3)  The  rescue  of  educational  forces  from 

the  grip  of  vested  interests. 
I  would  have  all  educational  institutions  fi- 
nanced by  the  State,  but  give  all  the  directing 
power  to  heads  of  education  elected  by  the 
main  body  of  teachers  themselves.  I  would 
not  have  education  dependent  on  advertise- 
ment or  on  charity.  I  would  not  even  have 
newspapers,  which  are  an  educational  force — 
though  you  might  not  always  think  so — de- 
pendent on  advertisements.  A  newspaper  man 
told  me  the  other  day  that  his  paper  had 
printed  an  article  drawing  attention  to  the  dele- 
teriousness  of  a  certain  product.  The  manu- 
facturers of  that  product  sent  an  ultimatum 
drawing  the  editor's  attention  to  the  deleterious- 
ness  of  their  advertising  in  a  journal  which 
printed  such  articles.  The  result  was  perfect 
peace.  What  chance  is  there  of  rescuing  news- 
papers, for  instance,  until  education  has  im- 
planted in  the  rising  generation  the  feeling  that 
to  accept  money  for  what  you  know  is  doing 

71 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

harm  to  your  neighbours,  is  not  playing  the 
game.  Or  take  another  instance :  Not  long  ago 
in  England  a  College  for  the  training  of  school- 
teachers desired  to  make  certain  excellent  ad- 
vances in  their  curriculum,  which  did  not  meet 
with  the  approval  of  the  municipal  powers  con- 
trolling the  College.  A  short,  sharp  fight,  and 
again  perfect  peace. 

I  suppose  it  would  be  too  sweeping  to  say 
that  a  vested  interest  never  yet  held  an  en- 
lightened view,  but  I  think  one  may  fairly  say 
that  their  enlightened  views  are  rare  birds. 

How,  then,  is  any  emancipation  to  come  ?  I 
know  not,  unless  we  take  to  looking  on  Educa- 
tion as  the  hub  of  the  wheel — the  Schools,  the 
Arts,  the  Press;  and  concentrate  our  thoughts 
on  the  best  means  of  manning  these  agencies 
with  men  and  women  of  real  honesty  and  vision, 
and  giving  them  real  power  to  effect  in  the  rising 
generation  the  evolution  of  ethics  and  taste,  in 
accordance  with  the  rules  of  dignity,  beauty,  and 
simplicity. 


72 


VII 
TALKING  AT  LARGE 

IT  is  of  the  main  new  factors  which  have 
come  into  the  life  of  the  civilised  world 
that  I  would  speak. 

The  division  deep  and  subtle  between  those 
who  have  fought  and  those  who  have  not — 
concerns  us  in  Europe  far  more  than  you  in 
America;  for  in  proportion  to  your  population 
the  number  of  your  soldiers  who  actually 
fought  has  been  small,  compared  with  the  num- 
ber in  any  belligerent  European  country.  And 
I  think  that  so  far  as  you  are  concerned  the  di- 
vision will  soon  disappear,  for  the  iron  had  not 
time  to  enter  into  the  souls  of  your  soldiers. 
For  us  in  Europe,  however,  this  factor  is  very 
tremendous,  and  will  take  a  long  time  to  wear 
away.  In  my  country  the,  as  it  were,  profes- 
sional English  dislike  to  the  expression  of  feel- 
ing, which  strikes  every  American  so  forcibly, 
covers  very  deep  hearts  and  highly  sensitive 
73 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

nerves.  The  average  Briton  is  now  not  at  all 
stolid  underneath;  I  think  he  has  changed  a 
great  deal  in  this  last  century,  owing  to  the 
town  life  which  seven-tenths  of  our  population 
lead.  Perhaps  only  of  the  Briton  may  one 
still  invent  the  picture  which  appeared  in 
Punch  in  the  autumn  of  1914 — of  the  steward 
on  a  battleship  asking  the  naval  lieutenant: 
"Will  you  take  your  bath  before  or  after  the 
engagement,  sir?"  and  only  among  Britons 
overhear  one  stoker  say  to  another  in  the  heat 
of  a  sea-fight:  "Well,  wot  I  say  is — 'E  ought 
to  'ave  married  'er."  For  all  that,  the  Briton 
feels  deeply;  and  on  those  who  have  fought  the 
experiences  of  the  battlefield  have  had  an  ef- 
fect which  almost  amounts  to  metamorphosis. 
There  are  now  two  breeds  of  British  people — 
such  as  have  been  long  in  the  danger  zones, 
and  such  as  have  not;  shading,  of  course,  into 
each  other  through  the  many  who  have  just 
smelled  powder  and  peril,  and  the  very  few 
whose  imaginations  are  vibrant  enough  to  have 
lived  the  two  lives,  while  only  living  one. 

In  a  certain  cool  paper  called:  "The  Balance- 
sheet  of  the  Soldier  Workman"  I  tried  to  come 

74 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

at  the  effect  of  the  war;  but  purposely  pitched 
it  in  a  low  and  sober  key;  and  there  is  a  much 
more  poignant  tale  of  change  to  tell  of  each 
individual  human  being. 

Take  a  man  who,  when  the  war  broke  out 
(or  had  been  raging  perhaps  a  year),  was  living 
the  ordinary  Briton's  life,  in  factory,  shop,  and 
home.  Suppose  that  he  went  through  that 
deep,  sharp  struggle  between  the  pull  of  home 
love  and  interests,  and  the  pull  of  country  (for 
I  hope  it  will  never  be  forgotten  that  five  mil- 
lion Britons  were  volunteers)  and  came  out 
committed  to  his  country.  That  then  he  had 
to  submit  to  being  rattled  at  great  speed  into 
the  soldier-shape  which  we  Britons  and  you 
Americans  have  been  brought  up  to  regard  as 
but  the  half  of  a  free  man;  that  then  he  was 
plunged  into  such  a  hideous  hell  of  horrible 
danger  and  discomfort  as  this  planet  has  never 
seen;  came  out  of  it  time  and  again,  went  back 
into  it  time  and  again;  and  finally  emerged, 
shattered  or  unscathed,  with  a  spirit  at  once 
uplifted  and  enlarged,  yet  bruised  and  un- 
geared for  the  old  life  of  peace.  Imagine  such 
a  man  set  back  among  those  who  have  not 
75 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

been  driven  and  grilled  and  crucified.  What 
would  he  feel,  and  how  bear  himself?  On  the 
surface  he  would  no  doubt  disguise  the  fact 
that  he  felt  different  from  his  neighbours — he 
would  conform;  but  something  within  him 
would  ever  be  stirring,  a  sort  of  superiority,  an 
impatient  sense  that  he  had  been  through  it 
and  they  had  not;  the  feeling,  too,  that  he  had 
seen  the  bottom  of  things,  that  nothing  he 
could  ever  experience  again  would  give  him  the 
sensations  he  had  had  out  there;  that  he  had 
lived,  and  there  could  be  nothing  more  to  it. 
I  don't  think  that  we  others  quite  realise  what 
it  must  mean  to  those  men,  most  of  them  under 
thirty,  to  have  been  stretched  to  the  uttermost, 
to  have  no  illusions  left,  and  yet  have,  perhaps, 
forty  years  still  to  live.  There  is  something 
gained  in  them,  but  there's  something  gone 
from  them.  The  old  sanctions,  the  old  values 
won't  hold;  are  there  any  sanctions  and  values 
which  can  be  made  to  hold?  A  kind  of  un- 
reality must  needs  cling  about  their  lives 
henceforth.  This  is  a  finespun  way  of  putting 
it,  but  I  think,  at  bottom,  true. 
The  old  professional  soldier  lived  for  his  sol- 
76 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

diering.  At  the  end  of  a  war  (however  ter- 
rible) there  was  left  to  him  a  vista  of  more 
wars,  more  of  what  had  become  to  him  the 
ultimate  reality — his  business  in  life.  For  these 
temporary  soldiers  of  what  has  been  not  so 
much  a  war  as  a  prolonged  piece  of  very  hor- 
rible carnage,  there  succeeds  something  so  mild 
in  sensation  that  it  simply  will  not  fill  the  void. 
When  the  dish  of  life  has  lost  its  savour,  by 
reason  of  violent  and  uttermost  experience, 
wherewith  shall  it  be  salted? 

The  American  Civil  War  was  very  long  and 
very  dreadful,  but  it  was  a  human  and  humane 
business  compared  to  what  Europe  has  just 
come  through.  There  is  no  analogy  in  history 
for  the  present  moment.  An  old  soldier  of  that 
Civil  War,  after  hearing  these  words,  wrote  me 
an  account  of  his  after-career  which  shows  that 
in  exceptional  cases  a  life  so  stirring,  full,  and 
even  dangerful  may  be  lived  that  no  void  is 
felt.  But  one  swallow  does  not  make  a  sum- 
mer, nor  will  a  few  hundreds  or  even  thousands 
of  such  lives  leaven  to  any  extent  the  vast 
lump  of  human  material  used  in  this  war.  The 
spiritual  point  is  this:  In  front  of  a  man  in 
77 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

ordinary  civilised  existence  there  hovers  ever 
that  moment  in  the  future  when  he  expects  to 
prove  himself  more  of  a  man  than  he  has  yet 
proved  himself.  For  these  soldiers  of  the 
Great  Carnage  the  moment  of  probation  is  al- 
ready in  the  past.  They  have  proved  them- 
selves as  they  will  never  have  the  chance  to 
do  again,  and  secretly  they  know  it.  One  talks 
of  their  powers  of  heroism  and  sacrifice  being 
wanted  just  as  much  in  time  of  Peace;  but  that 
cannot  really  be  so,  because  Peace  times  do  not 
demand  men's  lives — which  is  the  ultimate 
test — with  every  minute  that  passes.  No,  the 
great  moment  of  their  existence  lies  behind 
them,  young  though  so  many  of  them  are. 
This  makes  them  at  once  greater  than  us,  yet 
in  a  way  smaller,  because  they  have  lost  the 
power  and  hope  of  expansion.  They  have  lived 
their  masterpiece  already.  Human  nature  is 
elastic,  and  hope  springs  eternal;  but  a  climax 
of  experience  and  sensation  cannot  be  repeated; 
I  think  these  have  reached  and  passed  the 
uttermost  climax;  and  in  Europe  they  number 
millions. 
This  is  a  veritable  portent,  and  I  am.  glad 
78 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

that  in  America  you  will  not  have  it  to  any 
great  extent. 

Now  how  does  this  affect  the  future? 
Roughly  speaking  it  must,  I  think,  have  a 
diminishing  effect  on  what  I  may  call  loosely 
— Creative  ability.  People  have  often  said  to 
me:  "We  shall  have  great  writings  and  paint- 
ings from  these  young  men  when  they  come 
back."  We  shall  certainly  have  poignant  ex- 
pression of  their  experiences  and  sufferings; 
and  the  best  books  and  paintings  of  the  war 
itself  are  probably  yet  to  come.  But,  taking 
the  long  view,  I  do  not  believe  we  shall  have 
from  them,  in  the  end,  as  much  creative  art 
and  literature  as  we  should  have  had  if  they 
had  not  been  through  the  war.  Illusion  about 
life,  and  interest  in  ordinary  daily  experience 
and  emotion,  which  after  all,  are  to  be  the  stuff 
of  their  future  as  of  ours,  has  in  a  way  been 
blunted  or  destroyed  for  them.  And  in  the 
other  provinces  of  life,  in  industry,  in  trade,  in 
affairs,  how  can  we  expect  from  men  who  have 
seen  the  utter  uselessness  of  money  or  comfort 
or  power  in  the  last  resort,  the  same  naive  faith 
in  these  things,  or  the  same  driving  energy 

79 


ADDRESSES.  IN  AMERICA 

towards  the  attaining  of  them  that  we  others 
exhibit? 

It  may  be  cheering  to  assume  that  those  who 
have  been  almost  superhuman  these  last  four 
years  in  one  environment  will  continue  to  be 
almost  superhuman  under  conditions  the  very 
opposite.    But  alack!  it  is  not  logical. 

On  the  other  hand  I  think  that  those  who 
have  had  this  great  and  racking  experience 
will  be  left,  for  the  most  part,  with  a  real  pas- 
sion for  Justice;  and  that  this  will  have  a 
profoundly  modifying  effect  on  social  conditions. 
I  think,  too,  that  many  of  them  will  have  a 
sort  of  passion  for  humaneness,  which  will,  if 
you  will  suffer  me  to  say  so,  come  in  very 
handy;  for  I  have  observed  that  the  rest  of  us, 
through  reading  about  horrors,  have  lost  the 
edge  of  our  gentleness,  and  have  got  into  the 
habit  of  thinking  that  it  is  the  business  of 
women  and  children  to  starve,  if  they  happen 
to  be  German;  of  creatures  to  be  underfed  and 
overworked  if  they  happen  to  be  horses;  of 
families  to  be  broken  up  if  they  happen  to  be 
aliens;  and  that  a  general  carelessness  as  to 
what  suffering  is  necessary  and  what  is  not, 
80 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

has  set  in.  And,  queer  as  it  may  seem,  I  look 
to  those  who  have  been  in  the  thick  of  the  worst 
suffering  the  world  has  ever  seen,  to  set  us  in 
the  right  path  again,  and  to  correct  the  vitri- 
olic sentiments  engendered  by  the  armchair  and 
the  inkpot,  in  times  such  as  we  have  been  and 
are  still  passing  through.  A  cloistered  life  in 
times  like  these  engenders  bile;  in  fact,  I  think 
it  always  does.  For  sheer  ferocity  there  is  no 
place,  you  will  have  noticed,  like  a  club  full  of 
old  gentlemen.  I  expect  the  men  who  have 
come  home  from  killing  each  other  to  show  us 
the  way  back  to  brotherliness !  And  not  be- 
fore it's  wanted.  Here  is  a  little  true  story 
of  war-time,  when  all  men  were  supposed  to 
be  brothers  if  they  belonged  to  the  same  na- 
tion. In  the  fifth  year  of  the  war  two  men  sat 
alone  in  a  railway  carriage.  One,  pale,  young, 
and  rather  worn,  had  an  unlighted  cigarette  in 
his  mouth.  The  other,  elderly,  prosperous,  and 
of  a  ruddy  countenance,  was  smoking  a  large 
cigar. 

The  young  man,  who  looked  as  if  his  days 
were  strenuous,   took  his  unlighted   cigarette 
from  his  mouth,   gazed   at   it,   searched   his 
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pockets,  and  looked  at  the  elderly  man.  His 
nose  twitched,  vibrated  by  the  scent  of  the 
cigar,  and  he  said  suddenly: 

"Could  you  give  me  a  light,  sir?" 

The  elderly  man  regarded  him  for  a  moment, 
drooped  his  eyelids,  and  murmured: 

"I've  no  matches.', 

The  young  man  sighed,  mumbling  the  ciga- 
rette in  his  watering  lips,  then  said  very  sud- 
denly: 

"Perhaps  you'll  kindly  give  me  a  light  from 
your  cigar,  sir." 

The  elderly  man  moved  throughout  his  body 
as  if  something  very  sacred  had  been  touched 
within  him. 

"I'd  rather  not,"  he  said;  "if  you  don't 
mind." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed,  while  the  young 
man's  cigarette  grew  moister,  and  the  elder 
man's  cigar  shorter.  Then  the  latter  stirred, 
took  it  from  under  his  grey  moustache,  looked 
critically  at  it,  held  it  out  a  little  way  towards 
the  other  with  the  side  which  was  least  burned- 
down  foremost,  and  said: 

"Unless  you'd  like  to  take  it  from  the  edge." 
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TALKING  AT  LARGE 

On  the  other  hand  one  has  often  travelled 
in  these  last  years  with  extreme  embarrassment 
because  our  soldiers  were  so  extraordinarily 
anxious  that  one  should  smoke  their  cigarettes, 
eat  their  apples,  and  their  sausages.  The 
marvels  of  comradeship  they  have  performed 
would  fill  the  libraries  of  the  world. 

The  second  main  new  factor  in  the  world's 
life  is  the  disappearance  of  the  old  autocracies. 

In  1910,  walking  in  Hyde  Park  with  a  writer 
friend,  I  remember  saying:  "It's  the  hereditary 
autocracies  in  Germany,  Austria,  and  Russia 
which  make  the  danger  of  war."  He  did  not 
agree — but  no  two  writers  agree  with  each 
other  at  any  given  moment.  "If  only  autoc- 
racies go  down  in  the  wreckage  of  this  war!" 
was  almost  the  first  thought  I  put  down  in 
writing  when  the  war  broke  out.  Well,  they 
are  gone !  They  were  an  anachronism,  and 
without  them  and  the  bureaucracies  and  secrecy 
which  buttressed  them  we  should  not,  I  think, 
have  had  this  world  catastrophe.  But  let  us 
not  too  glibly  assume  that  the  forms  of  govern- 
ment which  take  their  place  can  steer  the  bat- 
tered ships  of  the  nations  in  the  very  troubled 
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ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

waters  of  to-day,  or  that  they  will  be  truly 
democratic.  Even  highly  democratic  states- 
men have  been  known  to  resort  to  the  way  of 
the  headmaster  at  my  old  school,  who  put  a 
motion  to  the  masters'  meeting  and  asked  for 
a  show  of  hands  in  its  favour.  Not  one  hand 
was  held  up.  "Then,"  he  said,  "I  shall  adopt 
it  with  the  greater  regret."  Nevertheless,  the 
essential  new  factor  is,  that,  whereas  in  1914 
civilisation  was  on  two  planes,  it  is  now,  the- 
oretically, at  least,  on  the  one  democratic  plane 
or  level.  That  is  a  great  easing  of  the  world- 
situation,  and  removes  a  chief  cause  of  inter- 
national misunderstanding.  The  rest  depends 
on  what  we  can  now  make  of  democracy. 
Surely  no  word  can  so  easily  be  taken  in  vain; 
to  have  got  rid  of  the  hereditary  principle  in 
government  is  by  no  means  to  have  made  de- 
mocracy a  real  thing.  Democracy  is  neither 
government  by  rabble,  nor  government  by 
caucus.  Its  measure  as  a  beneficent  principle 
is  the  measure  of  the  intelligence,  honesty, 
public  spirit,  and  independence  of  the  average 
voter.  The  voter  who  goes  to  the  poll  blind 
of  an  eye  and  with  a  cast  in  the  other,  so  that 
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TALKING  AT  LARGE 

he  sees  no  issue  clear,  and  every  issue  only  in 
so  far  as  it  affects  him  personally,  is  not  pre- 
cisely the  sort  of  ultimate  administrative  power 
we  want.  Intelligent,  honest,  public-spirited, 
and  independent  voters  guarantee  an  honest 
and  intelligent  governing  body.  The  best 
men  the  best  government  is  a  truism  which 
cannot  be  refuted.  Democracy  to  be  real  and 
effective  must  succeed  in  throwing  up  into  the 
positions  of  administrative  power  the  most 
trustworthy  of  its  able  citizens.  In  other 
words  it  must  incorporate  and  make  use  of  the 
principle  of  aristocracy;  government  by  the 
best — best  in  spirit,  not  best-born.  Rightly 
seen,  there  is  no  tug  between  democracy  and 
aristocracy;  aristocracy  should  be  the  means 
and  machinery  by  which  democracy  works  it- 
self out.  What  then  can  be  done  to  increase 
in  the  average  voter  intelligence  and  honesty, 
public  spirit  and  independence  ?  Nothing  save 
by  education.  The  Arts,  the  Schools,  the  Press. 
It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  need  for 
vigour,  breadth,  restraint,  good  taste,  enlight- 
enment, and  honesty  in  these  three  agencies. 
The  artist,  the  teacher  (and  among  teachers 
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one  includes,  of  course,  religious  teachers  in  so 
far  as  they  concern  themselves  with  the  affairs 
of  this  world),  and  the  journalist  have  the 
future  in  their  hands.  As  they  are  fine  the 
future  will  be  fine;  as  they  are  mean  the  future 
will  be  mean.  The  burden  is  very  specially 
on  the  shoulders  of  Public  Men,  and  that  most 
powerful  agency  the  Press,  which  reports  them. 
Do  we  realise  the  extent  to  which  the  modern 
world  relies  for  its  opinions  on  public  utter- 
ances and  the  Press?  Do  we  realise  how  com- 
pletely we  are  all  in  the  power  of  report  ?  Any 
little  He  or  exaggerated  sentiment  uttered  by 
one  with  a  bee  in  his  bonnet,  with  a  principle, 
or  an  end  to  serve,  can,  if  cleverly  expressed 
and  distributed,  distort  the  views  of  thousands, 
sometimes  of  millions.  Any  wilful  suppression 
of  truth  for  Party  or  persona1  ends  can  so  falsify 
our  vision  of  things  as  to  plunge  us  into  endless 
cruelties  and  follies.  Honesty  of  thought  and 
speech  and  written  word  is  a  jewel,  and  they 
who  curb  prejudice  and  seek  honourably  to 
know  and  speak  the  truth  are  the  only  true 
builders  of  a  better  life.  But  what  a  dull  world 
if  we  can't  chatter  and  write  irresponsibly,  can't 
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TALKING  AT  LARGE 

slop  over  with  hatred,  or  pursue  our  own  ends 
without  scruple !  To  be  tied  to  the  apron- 
strings  of  truth,  or  coiffed  with  the  nightcap  of 
silence;  who  in  this  age  of  cheap  ink  and  ora- 
tory will  submit  to  such  a  fate?  And  yet,  if 
we  do  not  want  another  seven  million  violent 
deaths,  another  eight  million  maimed  and  halt 
and  blind,  and  if  we  do  not  want  anarchy,  our 
tongues  must  be  sober,  and  we  must  tell  the 
truth.  Report,  I  would  almost  say,  now  rules 
the  world  and  holds  the  fate  of  man  on  the  say- 
ings of  its  many  tongues.  If  the  good  sense  of 
mankind  cannot  somehow  restrain  utterance 
and  cleanse  report,  Democracy,  so  highly 
vaunted,  will  not  save  us;  and  all  the  glib 
words  of  promise  spoken  might  as  well  have  lain 
unuttered  in  the  throats  of  orators.  We  are 
always  in  peril  under  Democracy  of  taking  the 
line  of  least  resistance  and  immediate  material 
profit.  The  gentleman,  for  instance,  whoever 
he  was,  who  first  discovered  that  he  could  sell 
his  papers  better  by  undercutting  the  standard 
of  his  rivals,  and,  appealing  to  the  lower  tastes 
of  the  Public  under  the  flag  of  that  convenient 
expression  "what  the  Public  wants,"  made  a 
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most  evil  discovery.  The  Press  is  for  the  most 
part  in  the  hands  of  men  who  know  what  is 
good  and  right.  It  can  be  a  great  agency  for 
levelling  up.  But  whether  on  the  whole  it  is 
so  or  not,  one  continually  hears  doubted. 
There  ought  to  be  no  room  for  doubt  in  any  of 
our  minds  that  the  Press  is  on  the  side  of  the 
angels.  It  can  do  as  much  as  any  other  single 
agency  to  raise  the  level  of  honesty,  intelligence, 
public  spirit,  and  taste  in  the  average  voter,  in 
other  words,  to  build  Democracy  on  a  sure 
foundation.  This  is  a  truly  tremendous  trust; 
for  the  safety  of  civilisation  and  the  happiness 
of  mankind  hangs  thereby.  The  saying  about 
little  children  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven  was 
meant  for  the  ears  of  all  those  who  have  it  in 
their  power  to  influence  simple  folk.  To  be  a 
good  and  honest  editor,  a  good  and  honest 
journalist  is  in  these  days  to  be  a  veritable 
benefactor  of  mankind. 

Now  take  the  function  of  the  artist,  of  the 
man  who  in  stone,  or  music,  marble,  bronze, 
paint,  or  words,  can  express  himself,  and  his 
vision  of  life,  truly  and  beautifully.  Can  we 
set  limit  to  his  value?  The  answer  is  in  the 
88 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

affirmative.  We  set  such  limitation  to  his 
value  that  he  has  been  known  to  die  of  it. 
And  I  would  only  venture  to  say  here  that  if 
we  don't  increase  the  store  we  set  by  him,  we 
shall,  in  this  reach-me-down  age  of  machines 
and  wholesale  standardisations,  emulate  the 
Goths  who  did  their  best  to  destroy  the  art  of 
Rome,  and  all  these  centuries  later,  by  way  of 
atonement,  have  filled  the  Thiergarten  at  Ber- 
lin and  the  City  of  London  with  peculiar 
brands  of  statuary,  and  are  always  writing  their 
names  on  the  Sphynx. 

I  suppose  the  hardest  lesson  we  all  have  to 
learn  in  life  is  that  we  can't  have  things  both 
ways.  If  we  want  to  have  beauty,  that  which 
appeals  not  merely  to  the  stomach  and  the  epi- 
dermis (which  is  the  function  of  the  greater 
part  of  industrialism),  but  to  what  lies  deeper 
within  the  human  organism,  the  heart  and  the 
brain,  we  must  have  conditions  which  permit 
and  even  foster  the  production  of  beauty.  The 
artist,  unfortunately,  no  less  than  the  rest  of 
mankind,  must  eat  to  live.  Now,  if  we  insist 
that  we  will  pay  the  artist  only  for  what  fas- 
cinates the  popular  uneducated  instincts,  he 

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will  either  produce  beauty,  remain  unpaid  and 
starve;  or  he  will  give  us  shoddy,  and  fare 
sumptuously  every  day.  My  experience  tells 
me  this:  An  artist  who  is  by  accident  of  inde- 
pendent means  can,  if  he  has  talent,  give  the 
Public  what  he,  the  artist,  wants,  and  sooner 
or  later  the  public  will  take  whatever  he  gives 
it,  at  his  own  valuation.  But  very  few  artists, 
who  have  no  independent  means,  have  enough 
character  to  hold  out  until  they  can  sit  on  the 
Public's  head  and  pull  the  Public's  beard,  to 
use  the  old  Sikh  saying.  How  many  times 
have  I  not  heard  over  here — and  it's  very  much 
the  same  over  there — that  a  man  must  pro- 
duce this  or  that  kind  of  work  or  else  of  course 
he  can't  live.  My  advice — at  all  events  to 
young  artists  and  writers — is:  ' Sooner  than 
do  that  and  have  someone  sitting  on  your  head 
and  pulling  your  beard  all  the  time,  go  out  of 
business — there  are  other  means  of  making  a 
living,  besides  faked  or  degraded  art.  Become 
a  dentist  and  revenge  yourself  on  the  Public's 
teeth — even  editors  and  picture  dealers  go  to 
the  dentist!'  The  artist  has  got  to  make  a 
stand  against  being  exploited,  and  he  has  got, 

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TALKING  AT  LARGE' 

also,  to  live  the  kind  of  life  which  will  give  him 
a  chance  to  see  clearly,  to  feel  truly,  and  to 
express  beautifully.  He,  too,  is  a  trustee  for 
the  future  of  mankind.  Money  has  one  in- 
estimable value — it  guarantees  independence, 
the  power  of  going  your  own  way  and  giving 
out  the  best  that's  in  you.  But,  generally 
speaking,  we  don't  stop  there  in  our  desire  for 
money;  and  I  would  say  that  any  artist  who 
doesn't  stop  there  is  not  '  playing  the  game/ 
neither  towards  himself  nor  towards  mankind; 
he  is  not  standing  up  for  the  faith  that  is  in 
him,  and  the  future  of  civilisation. 

And  now  what  of  the  teacher?  One  of  the 
discouraging  truths  of  life  is  the  fact  that  a 
man  cannot  raise  himself  from  the  ground  by 
the  hair  of  his  own  head.  And  if  one  took 
Democracy  logically,  one  would  have  to  give 
up  the  idea  of  improvement.  But  things  are 
not  always  what  they  seem,  as  somebody  once 
said;  and  fortunately,  government  'of  the 
people  by  the  people  for  the  people'  does  not 
in  practice  prevent  the  people  from  using  those 
saving  graces — Commonsense  and  Selection. 
In  fact,  only  by  the  use  of  those  graces  will  de- 
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niocracy  work  at  all.  When  twelve  men  get 
together  to  serve  on  a  jury,  their  commonsense 
makes  them  select  the  least  stupid  among  them 
to  be  their  foreman.  Each  of  them,  of  course, 
feels  that  he  is  that  least  stupid  man,  but  since 
a  man  cannot  vote  for  himself,  he  votes  for  the 
least  dense  among  his  neighbours,  and  the  fore- 
man comes  to  life.  The  same  principle  applied 
thoroughly  enough  throughout  the  social  system 
produces  government  by  the  best.  And  it  is 
more  vital  to  apply  it  thoroughly  in  matters  of 
education  than  in  other  branches  of  human 
activity.  But  when  we  have  secured  our  best 
heads  of  education,  we  must  trust  them  and 
give  them  real  power,  for  they  are  the  hope — 
well  nigh  the  only  hope — of  our  future.  They 
alone,  by  the  selection  and  instruction  of  their 
subordinates  and  the  curricula  which  they  lay 
down,  can  do  anything  substantial  in  the  way 
of  raising  the  standard  of  general  taste,  con- 
duct, and  learning.  They  alone  can  give  the 
starting  push  towards  greater  dignity  and  sim- 
plicity; promote  the  love  of  proportion,  and 
the  feeling  for  beauty.  They  alone  can  grad- 
ually instil  into  the  body  politic  the  under- 

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standing  that  education  is  not  a  means  towards 
wealth  as  such,  or  learning  as  such,  but  towards 
the  broader  ends  of  health  and  happiness.  The 
first  necessity  for  improvement  in  modern  life 
is  that  our  teachers  should  have  the  wide  view, 
and  be  provided  with  the  means  and  the  cur- 
ricula which  make  it  possible  to  apply  this  en- 
lightenment to  their  pupils.  Can  we  take  too 
much  trouble  to  secure  the  best  men  as  heads 
of  education — that  most  responsible  of  all 
positions  in  the  modern  State?  The  child  is 
father  to  the  man.  We  think  too  much  of 
pohtics  and  too  little  of  education.  We  treat 
it  almost  as  cavalierly  as  the  undergraduate 
treated  the  Master  of  Balliol.  "Yes,"  he  said, 
showing  his  people  round  the  quadrangle, 
"that's  the  Master's  window;"  then,  picking 
up  a  pebble,  he  threw  it  against  the  window 
pane.  "And  that,"  he  said,  as  a  face  ap- 
peared, "is  the  Master!"  Democracy  has 
come,  and  on  education  Democracy  hangs;  the 
thread  as  yet  is  slender. 

It  is  a  far  cry  to  the  third  new  factor:  Ex- 
ploitation of  the  air.  We  were  warned,  by 
Sir  Hiram  Maxim  about  1910  that  a  year  or 

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so  of  war  would  do  more  for  the  conquest  of 
the  air  than  many  years  of  peace.  It  has. 
We  hear  of  a  man  flying  260  miles  in  90  min- 
utes; of  the  Atlantic  being  flown  in  24  hours; 
of  airships  which  will  have  a  lifting  capacity 
of  300  tons;  of  air  mail-routes  all  over  the 
world.  The  time  will  perhaps  come  when  we 
shall  live  in  the  air,  and  come  down  to  earth 
on  Sundays. 

I  confess  that,  mechanically  marvellous  as 
all  this  is,  it  interests  me  chiefly  as  a  prime  in- 
stance of  the  way  human  beings  prefer  the 
shadow  of  existence  to  its  substance.  Granted 
that  we  speed  up  everything,  that  we  annihi- 
late space,  that  we  increase  the  powers  of  trade, 
leave  no  point  of  the  earth  unsurveyed,  and 
are  able  to  perform  air-stunts  which  people  will 
pay  five  dollars  apiece  to  see — how  shall  we 
have  furthered  human  health,  happiness,  and 
virtue,  speaking  in  the  big  sense  of  these  words  ? 
It  is  an  advantage,  of  course,  to  be  able  to 
carry  food  to  a  starving  community  in  some 
desert;  to  rescue  shipwrecked  mariners;  to 
have  a  letter  from  one's  wife  four  days  sooner 
than  one  could  otherwise;    and  generally  to 

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TALKING  AT  LARGE 

save  time  in  the  swopping  of  our  commodities 
and  the  journeys  we  make.  But  how  does  all 
this  help  human  beings  to  inner  contentment 
of  spirit,  and  health  of  body  ?  Did  the  arrival 
of  motor-cars,  bicycles,  telephones,  trains,  and 
steamships  do  much  for  them  in  that  line? 
Anything  which  serves  to  stretch  human  ca- 
pabilities to  the  utmost,  would  help  human 
happiness,  if  each  new  mechanical  activity, 
each  new  human  toy  as  it  were,  did  not  so  run 
away  with  our  sense  of  proportion  as  to  de- 
bauch our  energies.  A  man,  for  instance, 
takes  to  motoring,  who  used  to  ride  or  walk; 
it  becomes  a  passion  with  him,  so  that  he  now 
never  rides  or  walks — and  his  calves  become 
flabby  and  his  liver  enlarged.  A  man  puts  a 
telephone  into  his  house  to  save  time  and 
trouble,  and  is  straightway  a  slave  to  the  tinkle 
of  its  bell.  The  few  human  activities  in  them- 
selves and  of  themselves  pure  good  are  just 
eating,  drinking,  sleeping,  and  the  affections — 
in  moderation;  the  inhaling  of  pure  air,  exer- 
cise in  most  of  its  forms,  and  interesting  crea- 
tive work — in  moderation;  the  study  and  con- 
templation of  the  arts  and  Nature — in  modera- 

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ADDRESSES.  IN  AMERICA 

tion;  thinking  of  others  and  not  thinking  of 
yourself — in  moderation;  doing  kind  acts  and 
thinking  kind  thoughts.  All  the  rest  seems  to 
be  what  the  prophet  had  in  mind  when  he  said : 
'Vanity,  vanity,  all  is  vanity!'  Ah!  but  the 
one  great  activity— adventure  and  the  craving 
for  sensation !  It  is  that  for  which  the  human 
being  really  lives,  and  all  his  restless  activity 
is  caused  by  the  desire  for  it.  True;  yet  ad- 
venture and  sensation  without  rhyme  or  reason 
lead  to  disharmony  and  disproportion.  We 
may  take  civilisation  to  the  South  Sea  Islands, 
but  it  would  be  better  to  leave  the  islanders 
naked  and  healthy  than  to  improve  them  with 
trousers  and  civilisation  off  the  face  of  the 
earth.  We  may  invent  new  cocktails,  but  it 
would  be  better  to  stay  dry.  In  mechanical 
matters  I  am  reactionary,  for  I  cannot  believe 
in  inventions  and  machinery  unless  they  can 
be  so  controlled  as  to  minister  definitely  to 
health  and  happiness — and  how  difficult  that 
is !  In  my  own  country  the  townsman  has 
become  physically  inferior  to  the  countryman 
(speaking  in  the  large),  and  I  infer  from  this 
that  we  British — at  all  events — are  not  so  in 

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TALKING  AT  LARGE 

command  of  ourselves  and  our  wonderful  in- 
ventions and  machines  that  we  are  putting 
them  to  uses  which  are  really  beneficent.  If 
we  had  proper  command  of  ourselves  no  doubt 
we  could  do  this,  but  we  haven't;  and  if  you 
look  about  you  in  America,  the  same  doubt 
may  possibly  attack  you. 

But  there  is  another  side  to  the  exploitation 
of  the  air  which  does  not  as  yet  affect  you  in 
America  as  it  does  us  in  Europe — the  destruc- 
tive side.  Britain,  for  instance,  is  no  longer 
an  island.  In  five  or  ten  years  it  will,  I  think, 
be  impossible  to  guarantee  the  safety  of  Britain 
and  Britain's  commerce,  by  sea-power;  and 
those  who  continue  to  pin  faith  to  that  formula 
will  find  themselves  nearly  as  much  back- 
numbered  as  people  who  continued  to  prefer 
wooden  ships  to  iron,  when  the  iron  age  came 
in.  Armaments  on  land  and  sea  will  be  lim- 
ited; not,  I  think,  so  much  by  a  League  of 
Nations,  if  it  comes,  as  by  the  commonsense  of 
people  who  begin  to  observe  that  with  the  de- 
velopment of  the  powers  of  destruction  and  of 
transport  from  the  air,  land  and  sea  arma- 
ments are  becoming  of  little  use.    We  may  all 

97 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

disarm  completely,  and  yet — so  long  as  there 
are  flying-machines  and  high  explosives — re- 
main almost  as  formidably  destructive  as  ever. 
So  difficult  to  control,  so  infinite  in  its  possi- 
bilities for  evil  and  so  limited  in  its  possibili- 
ties for  good  do  I  consider  this  exploitation  of 
the  air  that,  personally,  I  would  rejoice  to  see 
the  nations  in  solemn  conclave  agree  this  very- 
minute  to  ban  the  use  of  the  air  altogether, 
whether  for  trade,  travel,  or  war;  destroy  every 
flying-machine  and  every  airship,  and  forbid 
their  construction.  That,  of  course,  is  a  con- 
summation which  will  remain  devoutly  to  be 
wished.  Every  day  one  reads  in  one's  paper 
that  some  country  or  other  is  to  take  the  lead 
in  the  air.  What  a  wild-goose  chase  we  are  in 
for!  I  verily  believe  mankind  will  come  one 
day  in  their  underground  dwellings  to  the  an- 
nual practice  of  burning  in  effigy  the  Guy 
(whoever  he  was)  who  first  rose  off  the  earth. 
After  I  had  talked  in  this  strain  once  before,  a 
young  airman  came  up  to  me  and  said:  "Have 
you  been  up?"  I  shook  my  head.  "You 
wait !"  he  said.  When  I  do  go  up  I  shall  take 
great  pains  not  to  go  up  with  that  one. 

98 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

We  come  now  to  the  fourth  great  new  factor 
— Bolshevism,  and  the  social  unrest.  But  I 
am  shy  of  saying  anything  about  it,  for  my 
knowledge  and  experience  are  insufficient.  I 
will  only  offer  one  observation.  Whatever 
philosophic  cloak  may  be  thrown  over  the 
shoulders  of  Bolshevism,  it  is  obviously — like 
every  revolutionary  movement  of  the  past — 
an  aggregation  of  individual  discontents,  the 
sum  of  millions  of  human  moods  of  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  existing  state  of  things;  and  what- 
ever philosophic  cloak  we  drape  on  the  body  of 
liberalism,  if  by  that  name  we  may  designate 
our  present  social  and  political  system — that 
system  has  clearly  not  yet  justified  its  claim  to 
the  word  evolutionary,  so  long  as  the  dispro- 
portion between  the  very  rich  and  the  very 
poor  continues  (as  hitherto  it  has)  to  grow. 
No  system  can  properly  be  called  evolutionary 
which  provokes  against  it  the  rising  of  so  for- 
midable a  revolutionary  wave  of  discontent. 
One  hears  that  co-operation  is  now  regarded 
as  vieux  jeu.  If  that  be  so,  it  is  because  co- 
operation in  its  true  sense  of  spontaneous  friend- 
liness between  man  and  man,  has  never  been 

99 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

tried.  Perhaps  human  nature  in  the  large  can 
never  rise  to  that  ideal.  But  if  it  cannot,  if 
industrialism  cannot  achieve  a  change  of  heart, 
so  that  in  effect  employers  would  rather  their 
profits  (beyond  a  quite  moderate  scale)  were 
used  for  the  amelioration  of  the  lot  of  those 
they  employ,  it  looks  to  me  uncommonly  like 
being  the  end  of  the  present  order  of  things, 
after  an  era  of  class-struggle  which  will  shake 
civilisation  to  its  foundations.  Being  myself 
an  evolutionist,  who  fundamentally  distrusts 
violence,  and  admires  the  old  Greek  saying: 
"God  is  the  helping  of  man  by  man,"  I  yet 
hope  it  will  not  come  to  that;  I  yet  believe  we 
may  succeed  in  striking  the  balance,  without 
civil  wars.  But  I  feel  that  (speaking  of  Europe) 
it  is  touch  and  go.  In  America,  in  Canada,  in 
Australia,  the  conditions  are  different,  the 
powers  of  expansion  still  large,  the  individual 
hopefulness  much  greater.  There  is  little  an- 
alogy with  the  state  of  things  in  Europe;  but, 
whatever  happens  in  Europe  must  have  its 
infectious  influence  in  America.  The  wise  man 
takes  Time  by  the  forelock — and  goes  in  front 
of  events. 

100 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

Let  me  turn  away  to  the  fifth  great  new  fac- 
tor: The  impetus  towards  a  League  of  Nations. 

This,  to  my  thinking,  so  wholly  advisable, 
would  inspire  more  hopefulness,  if  the  condi- 
tion of  Europe  was  not  so  terribly  confused, 
and  if  the  most  salient  characteristics  of  human 
nature  were  not  elasticity,  bluntness  of  imagi- 
nation, and  shortness  of  memory.  Those  of  us 
who,  while  affirming  the  principle  of  the  League, 
are  afraid  of  committing  ourselves  to  what 
obviously  cannot  at  the  start  be  a  perfect  piece 
of  machinery,  seem  inclined  to  forget  that  if 
the  assembled  Statesmen  fail  to  place  in  run- 
ning order,  now,  some  definite  machinery  for 
the  consideration  of  international  disputes,  the 
chance  will  certainly  slip.  We  cannot  reckon 
on  more  than  a  very  short  time  during  which 
the  horror  of  war  will  rule  our  thoughts  and 
actions.  And  during  that  short  time  it  is  es- 
sential that  the  League  should  have  had  some 
tangible  success  in  preventing  war.  Mankind 
puts  its  faith  in  facts,  not  theories;  in  proven, 
and  not  in  problematic,  success.  One  can 
imagine  with  what  profound  suspicion  and  con- 
tempt the  armed  individualists  of  the  Neolithic 
101 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

Age  regarded  the  first  organised  tribunal;  with 
what  surprise  they  found  that  it  actually 
worked  so  well  that  they  felt  justified  in  drop- 
ping their  habit  of  taking  the  fives  and  prop- 
erty of  their  neighbours  first  and  thinking  over 
it  afterwards.  Not  till  the  Tribunal  of  the 
League  of  Nations  has  had  successes  of  con- 
ciliation, visible  to  all,  will  the  armed  indi- 
vidualist nations  of  to-day  begin  to  rub  their 
cynical  and  suspicious  eyes,  and  to  sprinkle 
their  armour  with  moth-powder.  No  one  who, 
like  myself,  has  recently  experienced  the  sen- 
sation of  landing  in  America  after  having  lived 
in  Europe  throughout  the  war,  can  fail  to  re- 
alise the  reluctance  of  Americans  to  commit 
themselves,  and  the  difficulty  Americans  have 
in  realising  the  need  for  doing  so.  But  may  I 
remind  Americans  that  during  the  first  years 
of  the  war  there  was  practically  the  same  gen- 
eral American  reluctance  to  interfere  in  an  old- 
world  struggle;  and  that  in  the  end  America 
found  that  it  was  not  an  old-world  but  a  world- 
struggle.  It  is  entirely  reasonable  to  dislike 
snatching  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for  other 
people,  and  to  shun  departure  from  the  letter 
102 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

of  cherished  tradition;  but  things  do  not  stand 
still  in  this  world;  storm  centres  shift;  and  live 
doctrine  often  becomes  dead  dogma. 

The  League  of  Nations  is  but  an  incorpora- 
tion of  the  co-operative  principle  in  world 
affairs.  We  have  seen  to  what  the  lack  of  that 
principle  leads  both  in  international  and  national 
life.  Americans  seem  almost  unanimously  in 
favour  of  a  League  of  Nations,  so  long  as  it  is 
sufficiently  airy — perhaps  one  might  say  'hot- 
airy';  but  when  it  comes  to  earth,  many  of 
them  fear  the  risk.  I  would  only  say  that  no 
great  change  ever  comes  about  in  the  lives  of 
men  unless  they  take  risks;  no  progress  can 
be  made.  As  to  the  other  objection  taken  to 
the  League,  not  only  by  Americans — that  it 
won't  work,  well  we  shall  never  know  the  rights 
of  that  unless  we  try  it.  The  two  chief  fac- 
tors in  avoiding  war  are  Publicity  and  Delay. 
If  there  is  some  better  plan  for  bringing  these 
two  factors  into  play  than  the  machinery  of  a 
League  of  Nations,  I  have  yet  to  learn  of  it. 
The  League  which,  I  think,  will  come  in  spite 
of  all  our  hesitations,  may  very  likely  make 
claims  larger  than  its  real  powers;  and  there  is, 
103 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

of  course,  danger  in  that;  but  there  is  also 
wisdom  and  advantage,  for  the  success  of  the 
League  must  depend  enormously  on  how  far 
it  succeeds  in  riveting  the  imaginations  of  man- 
kind in  its  first  years.  The  League  should  there- 
fore make  bold  claims.  After  all,  there  is 
solidity  and  truth  in  this  notion  of  a  Society  of 
Nations.  The  world  is  really  growing  towards 
it  beneath  all  surface  rivalries.  We  must  ad- 
mit it  to  be  in  the  line  of  natural  development, 
unless  we  turn  our  back  on  all  analogy.  Don't 
then  let  us  be  ashamed  of  it,  as  if  it  were  a 
piece  of  unpractical  idealism.  It  is  much  more 
truly  real  than  the  state  of  things  which  has 
led  to  the  misery  of  these  last  four  years.  The 
soldiers  who  have  fought  and  suffered  and 
known  the  horrors  of  war,  desire  it.  The  ob- 
jections come  from  those  who  have  but  watched 
them  fight  and  suffer.  Like  every  other  change 
in  the  life  of  mankind,  and  like  every  new  de- 
velopment in  industry  or  art,  the  League  needs 
faith.  Let  us  have  faith  and  give  it  a  good 
'send-off.' 

I  have  left  what  I  deem  the  greatest  new 
factor   till    the   last — Anglo-American    unity. 
104 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

Greater  it  is  even  than  the  impetus  towards  a 
League  of  Nations,  because  without  it  the 
League  of  Nations  has  surely  not  the  chance 
of  a  lost  dog. 

I  have  been  reading  a  Life  of  George  Wash- 
ington, which  has  filled  me  with  admiration  of 
your  stand  against  our  Junkers  of  those  days. 
And  I  am  familiar  with  the  way  we  outraged 
the  sentiment  of  both  the  North  and  the  South, 
in  the  days  of  your  Civil  War.  No  wonder 
your  history  books  were  not  precisely  Anglo- 
phile, and  that  Americans  grew  up  in  a  tradi- 
tional dislike  of  Great  Britain!  I  am  realist 
enough  to  know  that  the  past  will  not  vanish 
like  a  ghost — just  because  we  have  fought  side 
by  side  in  this  war;  and  realist  enough  to  recog- 
nise the  other  elements  which  make  for  patches 
of  hearty  dislike  between  our  peoples.  But, 
surveying  the  whole  field,  I  believe  there  are 
links  and  influences  too  strong  for  the  disrup- 
tive forces;  and  I  am  sure  that  the  first  duty 
of  English  and  American  citizens  to-day  is  to 
be  fair  and  open  to  understanding  about  each 
other.  If  anyone  will  take  down  the  map  of 
the  world  and  study  it,  he  will  see  at  once  how 
105 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

that  world  is  ballasted  by  the  English-speaking 
countries;  how,  so  long  as  they  remain  friends, 
holding  as  they  do  the  trade  routes  and  the 
main  material  resources  of  the  world  under 
their  control,  the  world  must  needs  sail  on  an 
even  keel.  And  if  he  will  turn  to  the  less  visi- 
ble chart  of  the  world's  mental  qualities,  he 
will  find  a  certain  reassuring  identity  of  ideals 
between  the  various  English-speaking  races, 
which  form  a  sort  of  guarantee  of  stable  unity. 
Thirdly,  in  community  of  language  we  have  a 
factor  promoting  unity  of  ethics,  potent  as 
blood  itself;  for  community  of  language  is  ever 
unconsciously  producing  unity  of  traditions  and 
ideas.  Americans  and  Britons,  we  are  both,  of 
course,  very  competitive  peoples,  and  I  sup- 
pose consider  our  respective  nations  the  chosen 
people  of  the  earth.  That  is  a  weakness  which, 
though  natural,  is  extremely  silly,  and  merely 
proves  that  we  have  not  yet  outgrown  pro- 
vincialism. But  competition  is  possible  with- 
out reckless  rivalry.  There  was  once  a  boot- 
maker who  put  over  his  shop:  'Mens  conscia 
recti'  ('A  mind  conscious  of  right').  He  did 
quite  well,  till  a  rival  bootmaker  came  along, 
106 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

established  himself  opposite,  and  put  over  his 
shop  the  words:  'Men's,  Women's,  and  Chil- 
dren's conscia  recti,'  and  did  even  better.  The 
way  nations  try  to  cut  each  other's  commercial 
throats  is  what  makes  the  stars  twinkle — that 
smile  on  the  face  of  the  heavens.  It  has  the 
even  more  ruinous  effect  of  making  bad  blood 
in  the  veins  of  the  nations.  Let  us  try  playing 
the  game  of  commerce  like  sportsmen,  and  re- 
spect each  other's  qualities  and  efforts.  Sports- 
manship has  been  rather  ridiculed  of  late,  yet 
I  dare  make  the  assertion  that  she  will  yet  hold 
the  field,  both  in  your  country  and  in  mine; 
and  if  in  our  countries — then  in  the  world. 

It  is  ignorance  of  each  other,  not  knowledge, 
which  has  always  made  us  push  each  other  off 
— the  habit,  you  know,  is  almost  endemic  in 
strangers,  so  that  they  do  it  even  in  their  sleep. 
There  were  once  two  travellers,  a  very  large 
man  and  a  very  little  man,  strangers  to  each 
other,  whom  fate  condemned  to  share  a  bed  at 
an  inn.  In  his  sleep  the  big  man  stirred,  and 
pushed  the  little  man  out  on  to  the  floor.  The 
little  man  got  up  in  silence,  climbed  carefully 
over  the  big  man  who  was  still  asleep,  got  his 
107 


ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA 

back  against  the  wall  and  his  feet  firmly  planted 
against  the  small  of  the  big  man's  back,  gave  a 
tremendous  revengeful  push  and — pushed  the 
bed  away  from  the  wall  and  fell  down  in  be- 
tween. Such  is  the  unevenness  of  fate,  and  the 
result  of  taking  things  too  seriously.  America 
and  England  must  not  push  each  other  out,  even 
in  their  sleep,  nor  resent  the  unconscious  shoves 
they  give  each  other,  too  violently.  Since  we 
have  been  comrades  in  this  war  we  have  taken 
to  speaking  well  of  each  other,  even  in  public 
print.  To  cease  doing  that  now  will  show  that 
we  spoke  nicely  of  each  other  only  because  we 
were  afraid  of  the  consequences  if  we  did  not. 
Well,  we  both  have  a  sense  of  humour. 

But  not  only  self-preservation  and  the  fear 
of  ridicule  guard  our  friendship.  We  have,  I 
hope,  also  the  feeling  that  we  stand,  by  geo- 
graphical and  political  accident,  trustees  for 
the  health  and  happiness  of  all  mankind.  The 
magnitude  of  this  trust  cannot  be  exaggerated, 
and  I  would  wish  that  every  American  and 
British  boy  and  girl  could  be  brought  up  to 
reverence  it — not  to  believe  that  they  are  there 
to  whip  creation.  We  are  here  to  serve  crea- 
108 


TALKING  AT  LARGE 

tion,  that  creation  may  be  ever  better  all  over 
the  earth,  and  life  more  humane,  more  just, 
more  free.  The  habit  of  being  charitable  to 
each  other  will  grow  if  we  give  it  a  little  chance. 
If  we  English-speaking  peoples  bear  with  each 
other's  foibles,  help  each  other  over  the  stiles 
we  come  on,  and  keep  the  peace  of  the  world, 
there  is  still  hope  that  some  day  that  world 
may  come  to  be  God's  own. 

Let  us  be  just  and  tolerant;  let  us  stand  fast 
and  stand  together — for  light  and  liberty,  for 
humanity  and  Peace ! 


109 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
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